Ballabile
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: To Sybil ballet is everything but, despite her dedication, she lacks the passion that made her sister a star. To convince the world she has what it takes to succeed, she needs to surrender herself to her innermost desires - desires embodied in the form of her handsome accompanist. However, there's a fine line between love and lust... and the former could very well be her undoing.
1. Prologue: Powers of Seduction

**_So this is something that I just HAD to write after seeing a gorgeous graphic and prompt on Tumbr. This chapter is basically just pure smut, but the plot will come along in the next chapter... I promise._** **_I will be continuing with my other fics, but I needed to get this out of my system._**

* * *

Her back hits his front door with a thud as he fumbles around trying to get his key into the lock, his lips never once leaving hers in a passionate kiss that hasn't really stopped since they got out of the taxi. Fuelled by alcohol and pure lust, he finally succeeds in his task and they tumble into his flat giggling like school children. She squeals as he picks her up, kicking the door closed behind him before carrying her over to the kitchen worktop. She moans as his kisses trail down her neck and into the neckline of her dress, nuzzling his nose against her cleavage as his hands roam her body, squeezing her breasts and caressing her thighs much to her evident delight. She shuffles closer to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and roughly tugging on his hair to get him to kiss her again - he's more than happy to oblige, moving his hand up her leg towards the place where she wants him most, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth as she gasps in pleasure. She's wet - so wet and so aroused and the temptation just to fuck her here is almost too much. He'll resist though - it's been so long since the last time he had sex and he's determined for them both to enjoy it, even if he did only meet the girl a few hours ago and will probably never see her again after tonight. She helps him peel off her knickers by raising her hips up, her delicate hands gripping his shoulders as his fingers brush her core which she suspects isn't entirely by accident. Tossing the flimsy lace on the floor, he moves his hand up her skirt again, caressing her much more deliberately this time, circling her clit painstakingly slowly before sliding one finger and then another inside of her. She arches against him as best she can, moaning loudly as he pushes her closer to the edge. He wants more - he wants to taste her and to give her the most exquisite pleasure that he can. For him, nothing is a bigger turn on than going down on a woman and bringing her to orgasm - if she's happy then so is he.

He sweeps her up in his arms and she goes quiet for a moment before giggling as he carries her over to the sofa on the other side of the room.

"You... you live alone, yes?" she asks breathlessly, suddenly aware of just how loud they're being.

"No, my mother's in that bedroom right there." He laughs as her face drops and he kisses her forehead in reassurance. "Relax... I'm joking."

"Well that's good," she says with relief. "Because I think we're only just getting started." She smiles at him seductively before using their momentary interlude to catch him off guard and flip him over so that he's now lying on his back on the sofa. "_You can do this_," she tells herself. "_Seduce him... prove them wrong. You are the black swan_." She leans in and nibbles on the exposed flesh of his collarbone as she painstakingly works at the buttons of his shirt, slipping her fingers beneath the pale blue fabric to caress each new bit of skin that she uncovers. He soon grows impatient and gently pushes her away so that he can sit up and pull the garment over his head. Letting him settle back against the cushions again, she kisses a trail down his chest and stomach. Despite the haze that the alcohol has cast upon her, she can tell that he really is quite handsome - well built with broad shoulders and strong arms, hands with just the right amount of roughness to be pleasurable as they caress her bare skin. She feels the play of muscles beneath her fingers, not glaringly obvious to the naked eye but they're most certainly there. She reaches the waistband of his jeans and presses a hand so very deliberately against his obvious erection, making him groan in pleasure and impatience as she moves to undo his belt. He so desperately wants to do it for her but he can't seem to focus on anything but the feel of her hands and the look she's got on her face is so damn erotic that it quite literally paralyses him. She slides off the sofa and onto the floor, tugging his trousers and boxers down with her and leaving him quite naked before her eyes - eyes which she can't help but let glance down to his cock. He's not as big as some of the other's she's had (not that there have been many) but he's thick and throbbing and her stomach flutters at the thought of having him inside of her. Not yet though - first she feels like teasing him some more and so she rakes her fingernails up his thighs, meeting his eyes and giving him a wicked grin before finally teasing him with a feather light touch. He hisses as she stokes him, base to tip, and moves her mouth towards him, licking her lips in anticipation. She swirls her tongue around the head of his cock and he moans something that sounds vaguely like her name as he already feels himself beginning to come undone. He roughly runs a hand through her hair, twisting the ebony curls around his fingers causing her movements quicken as she takes him deeper. His balls begin to tighten and sees her hand wandering up her dress as she seeks to pleasure herself - he knows he can't last much longer and, as much as he wants to let go, he feels it would be overstepping the mark. She may seem wanton (in the best possible way, of course - he likes a woman who grabs the bull by the horns or, in this case, grabs the man by the balls) but he feels as though there's an underlying innocence to her that he just can't bring himself to corrupt... yet.

He caresses her cheek as he slides his hand from her hair to her shoulder and encourages her to draw back. She looks up at him with wide, quizzical eyes and he drops down to the floor to kneel before her.

"My turn," he whispers into her ear as he nuzzles her neck with his nose, reaching behind him to grab a cushion to make her a bit more comfortable - there's absolutely no point in taking this into the bedroom now, they've come this far and they may as well carry on. She helps him pull her dress up over her head and works the clasp of her bra undone herself, tossing it aside as an addition to the pile of clothing scattered across his living room floor. He moves down her body, peppering her skin with tiny kisses much as she had done to him before settling between her legs. He flicks his tongue against her, slowly at first but soon finding a quicker pace that has her back arching up off the floor and her hands reaching out to grab hold of something - anything - to keep her anchored to the ground because, in all honesty, she honestly feels as though she could fly. The pleasure is almost too much and she can't remember the last time something other than the touch of her own hand (with a little help from Ann Summers and her little box of tricks, naturally) made her feel this good and they're only just getting started. He licks and sucks her begging quim, letting his teeth graze over her swollen clitoris ever so gently which makes her whimper and moan with delight. He catches her completely by surprise as he slips his fingers into her again, just as he had done when he had her perched on the kitchen worktop. He curls them up inside of her, stroking against that little spot that she knows will be her undoing, and continues his ministrations with his tongue. She soon shatters, crying out his name and digging her nails into whatever flesh of his she can reach.

"Oh God," she moans breathlessly, curling up on her side as he moves to lie beside her. "You... you're really quite good at that."

"Well, I don't mean to brag but it has been said before," he replies with a cocky grin - he's not usually such an arrogant sod, but there's just something about a combination of vodka and having an incredibly beautiful post-coital woman lying naked on your living room floor that does tend to inflate one's ego. "Saying that though, you're not so bad yourself."

She pushes him down so that he's lying on his back, moving in to kiss him lasciviously as she straddles him and grinds her hips against his erection. "You haven't seen anything yet," she tells him, a little surprised by her own boldness.

He cocks an eyebrow and smirks. "Hmm... is that so?"

"Have you got..."

"In my wallet," he interrupts, knowing exactly what she's asking for. "Back pocket of my jeans." He can't resist the temptation to take one of her nipples into his mouth as she leans over him to reach for his trousers and he swears she's deliberately taking her time to let them both enjoy this.

She fumbles around a little bit but, once she's done, she looks him in the eye again as she takes his prick into her hand and slowly sinks down onto it. Her eyes flutter closed and there's a look of pure bliss on her face as she surrenders herself to the feeling of having him fill her so completely. She tosses her hair back and caresses her breasts as they settle into a steady rhythm that has them both moaning and begging for more as they lose themselves completely in each other. His hands find her hips as he encourages her movements, noticing for the first time that there's a small tattoo on her stomach. It's plain and simple, but beautiful nonetheless - two feathers, a black and a white tied together at the quill. He runs a finger across it and it sends a shiver down her spine - such a tiny and intimate action just enough to send her over the edge and bringing her to another all-consuming orgasm. His own follows mere seconds later and she collapses on top of him, breathing heavily kissing his chest right above his pounding heart.

"Now that," he pants. "Was really something."

Sybil giggles and looks up at him with a smile. "Hmmm, it really was."

Tom kisses the top of her hair and climbs to his feet on unsteady legs. "Wait here one second."

She nods in agreement and he disappears into his bedroom and, still stark naked, flops down onto his bed. He disposes of the condom, wrapping it in a piece of tissue and discarding it in the bin under his desk before running a hand through his hair and trying to process what the hell has just happened. The room is spinning and he suddenly feels sick - he's just had drunken sex, amazing drunken sex, with a girl he met not even five hours ago and he honestly doesn't know what to do next. Will she expect anything of him? Will she wake up in the morning, sober and hungover, and realise what a terrible mistake she's made? Will he do the same? He knows he can't sit here pondering these thoughts all night - she's still out there and she'll probably be wondering where he is. After putting on a clean pair of boxers, he grabs the duvet and some pillows and trudges back into the other room.

"Cold?" he asks, unable to stop himself smiling at the sight of her wearing his shirt.

"Just a little," she replies somewhat hoarsely. "And I have a headache."

Tom looks at her, suddenly feeling concerned for this virtual stranger. "Are you alright? Do you want some water and paracetamol or something?"

Sybil shakes her head and yawns. "No, I'm fine," she tells him sincerely. "I just need to sleep." Almost instinctively, she cuddles up to his chest as he wraps the duvet around them both. "Sweet dreams, Tom," she manages to whisper before her exhausted body finally succumbs to sleep.

**_-xxx-_**

The light burns her eyes as she wakes the following morning - her headache is ten times worse and she feels like she's swallowed half the Sahara desert. She wills her limbs to move so that she can get up and get herself a glass of water but they refuse to cooperate. It suddenly hits her that she doesn't recognise her surroundings and, suddenly, she becomes all too aware of a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Sybil looks over her shoulder and groans - he's a good looking man, but she suddenly hates herself for being so stupid and getting herself into such a state that she'd sleep with some random from a bar. Being careful not to wake him, she manages to wriggle free of his hold and, gathering her clothes, decides to make a quick exit. She feels bad for leaving without a saying at least goodbye and, kissing him on the cheek, she walks over to the fridge. He has those alphabet magnets and so, in what she thinks is actually a stroke of genius, she rearranges them to leave him a note.

_Thank you for last night. _

_S x_

And, with that, she's gone.


	2. So Long, Farewell

**_Thank you all so much for your response to that prologue - it really encouraged me to get this next chapter out as soon as I could. I apologise that it's a bit long-winded, but I feel like it's important to set up a few of the main relationships at this early stage. Just a few notes though - I'm using the family structure for the Crawleys that I used in Once Upon a December (i.e that Robert also has a brother who is the current Earl). Thomas might seem a bit OOC at the moment, but I think that he'd be a completely different man in a modern universe as he wouldn't have to conceal who he really is. I had one more thing to say too but I've forgotten what it was. Never mind. Enjoy and please let me know what you think - I hope to have more once my exams are over with (roll on Tuesday!) :) x_**

* * *

**_Three days earlier_**

Sitting on the edge of her sister's bed, she suddenly feels like a small child again as she'd watch Mary go off to her Saturday morning dance classes, pestering her parents to let her go along too. "When you're big," her mother had said to her, brushing her youngest daughter's hair into a pretty little bun like Mary's just so that she wouldn't feel completely left out. Now she is big - quite grown up in fact - and she dances all the time to her heart's content. Once again Mary is going off on a big adventure but, unlike last time, this isn't somewhere she can follow.

"I can't believe you're going to Russia," Sybil sighs, toying with the delicate pink ribbon of her sister's pointe shoe. "It's so far away."

Mary looks up at her and smiles as she folds a grey cashmere cardigan and places it into her suitcase. "I'll be home for Christmas," she says. "And we've always got Skype."

"It's not the same though," she pouts. "And I don't know what I'm going to do without our lazy Saturday mornings in the company of James Martin. You must let me know as soon as they cast you; I'll come out there and see you."

Her sister laughs. "Unless, of course, you're far too busy with a starring role of your own."

Sybil scoffs. "Oh please," she says, rolling her eyes. "I only got into the Royal because of you and Mama. I love to dance, but there's no way I could ever be..."

"Sybil Crawley, don't you **dare** say that you could never be good enough. I still don't understand why you can't see just how talented you are," she moves to sit beside her sister on the bed and tucks a loose curl back behind Sybil's ear before cupping her face in her hands. "I love you, Little Swan, and I'll miss you dearly but my shoes need filling and there's nobody else I'd rather see in them than you."

Sybil smiles - little swan was a nickname that Mary had given to her when they were children and even now they're both in their twenties it still gets used on occasion. "Our loss is the Bolshoi's gain," she says. "I'm so happy for you; really I am... if not a tiny bit jealous."

"You're time will come, I'm sure of it," her sister replies. "Though if it's at the Mariinsky then I think I'm contractually obliged to become your rival."

"I don't think I fancy St Petersburg, it's far too cold," she says. "La Scala would be nice. Sunshine, Italian men and ice cream on tap... my kind of place."

Mary chuckles. "Are you coming to the airport tomorrow?"

"And miss saying goodbye to my favourite sister? Of course I am."

"Favourite sister, eh? Don't let Edith hear you say that," Mary smirks. "I suppose she won't say more than two words to me tonight and then I'll get a text just before she goes to bed."

"Oh no, she's coming to see you off too."  
"And just what have I done to be deemed worthy of her time?"

"She does love you, you know," says Sybil. "In her own way, obviously, but I know that she'll miss you... she told me so."

Mary traces the floral pattern of her duvet cover with her index finger as she listens to Sybil - the youngest of the three had always been the peacekeeper and, as a result, it's made her wise beyond her years. It was no secret that Mary and Sybil were the closest of the Crawley siblings, both of them having decided to follow in their mother's footsteps and peruse a love of ballet. Cora Levinson (as she was still known in a professional capacity) had been a principal at the New York City Ballet when she'd met the girls' father, Robert (the younger son of an English earl), and had decided to give up her career after Mary had been born. Edith too probably could have been a dancer if she'd wanted to but had refused lessons out of some unexplained rivalry with her older sister, instead showing a talent for the sciences over the arts and, having taken a great deal of interest in her grandparents estate, had ended up with some sort of well-to-do job at the Ministry of Agriculture.

"If you say so," she mumbles.

"I do say so... is Matthew going to come and see you before you go to Moscow?"

"Don't be silly, darling, why would he do that?"

Sybil sighs in frustration - it's so obvious that Mary and her ex still have feelings for one another but they're both far too stubborn to admit it. "Because he's completely in love with you and he'd be a fool to let you go without so much as a proper goodbye... preferably one like in Love Actually where he chases you through Heathrow."

Mary laughs and shakes her head. "You're such a romantic at times, do you know that?" she says. "Matthew and I... well it's complicated."  
"You're telling me."

"We both knew that something like this could happen. We both have jobs that could take us to the other side of the world and it honestly wouldn't be fair for one of us have the other leave their life here behind just to follow. I think it's cruel to leave them waiting too... I could be home again in six months and what it is it you said the other day? If he loves me then he'll wait. I don't think it's that simple... I don't think that things will ever be that simple between Matthew and me."

"But you still love him?"

"Of course I do but that's not the point."

"Look at Mama and Papa though," Sybil points out. "They did the whole long distance thing for a few years and they worked out just fine." To Sybil, her parents love story had always been like something out of a fairytale - an ordinary girl meeting her prince and being swept off to his (well, his father's) castle in a kingdom across the sea. "You know, people always say that you and I are similar, but I think you and Edith are more alike than you think... you're both so cynical when it comes to matters of the heart."

"Because ours have been broken far too many times to count, Little Swan... you're the only one of us who remains unscathed. Now, come on, help me decide what shoes I should take with me or we'll be late for dinner."

**_-xxx-_**

Robert and Cora had decided to take their girls out to dinner at Mary's favourite restaurant - it would be the last time the five of them would be together for a while and so they fully intended to make the most of it. Edith, however, turns up half an hour late with the excuse that something big had happened late in the day at the ministry and it had been a mad rush to get it sorted.

"Yes, because I can imagine that an escaped flock of sheep running riot around Abergavenny is about exciting as it gets in your line of work," Mary mutters from behind her glass of wine, making Sybil laugh even though she knows that her sisters really shouldn't be so mean to one another.

"You know I'm not at liberty to discuss government matters," replies Edith haughtily, trying to make her job sound much more '_top secret file_' than '_Countryfile_'. "Besides, I'm here now aren't I?"

"Yes but how is it that you get off scot free and yet, when I showed up late to Aunt Rosamund's birthday last year because rehearsals overran there was hell to pay?"

"Because, now that you're going to Moscow, I've become the favourite."

"Don't be silly, Edith, Sybil has and always will be the favourite."

Sybil looks up from the table upon hearing her name, her gaze having been fixed on the bread roll and trying to ignore the grumbling of her stomach as she wished that they'd stop bickering so they could finally order. "Hmm? What have I done now?"

"Girls," Robert cuts in with an exasperated sigh- his daughters are grown women and yet there's still a childish side to them sometimes which simultaneously endearing and infuriating. "We've been over this time and time again since Sybil was born, neither you mother nor I has a favourite. Now, please, Mary has a plane to catch in the morning and at this rate we'll still be sitting here then."

Sybil looks up at her father and gives him a look of pure innocence. "It's alright, Papa," she says. "You don't have to tell us that none of us are your favourite. We all know that if you had to save anyone in a fire it would be the dog."

Even Robert has to laugh at that.

"So, Mary, have you heard from Matthew?" asks Cora as they study their menus.

Mary rolls her eyes. "Oh not you as well," she groans. "I've had Sybil on at me all afternoon over that and the answer is no, I haven't."

"It's such a shame you let that one go," Robert adds. "He was a decent chap."

"Oh, Matthew, Matthew, Matthew, is that really all anyone can talk about? Why don't you just adopt him as your son and heir if you adore him so much?" she rants. "I'm sorry... that was uncalled for. I'm just tired of the whole thing and I just want to put the past behind me... I'm starting a new chapter tomorrow and it's one that doesn't involve Matthew Crawley."

"Did you hear about Granny's latest escapade?" Sybil asks, changing the subject much to Mary's gratitude. "She tried to send Mary some money using, and I quote, that on the line money contraption."

"What on earth is an on the line money contraption?" asks Edith.

"Internet banking," replies Mary.

"Mmm, only she didn't because she said that it didn't give her the option to do it in rubles and sterling would be useless in Russia."

"She does realise that it doesn't actually matter what currency it's in?" says Robert. "What is she sending you instead?"  
"Travellers cheques... I didn't even know that they still made those."

Robert shakes his head - his mother's relationship with technology is an endless source of entertainment for the family, though it's anyone's guess as to how she hasn't got a clue how a mobile phone works and yet she's a dab hand at online bingo. "Tell me how much it was for and I'll transfer the money to your account, she can give what she was going to give to you to me."

"Thank you, Papa," Mary smiles.

"And just before any of you start going on about favouritism again," he says, looking over at his two younger daughters. "I'd do the same for Sybil and Edith."

The three girls smile back at him - they haven't always seen eye to eye with their parents, just like most children, but the Crawley's are a tight knit unit and they love each other dearly. It's the thing that makes their goodbyes to Mary the following morning at the airport that bit more sombre because it's the first time, for the sisters especially, that they've ever been separated.

But, as Mary said, it's the beginning of another new chapter in all their lives.

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil arrives at rehearsals a little later than she would have liked despite being told to take as much time as she needed by her ballet mistress. Elsie Hughes is several years older than Cora and the pair had danced together when the former had spent some time in New York in the early seventies. When a shoulder injury had prematurely ended her career, she had decided to go into teaching, returning to her hometown in rural Scotland to set up her own dance school. As the years went by, she'd set up schools in disadvantaged areas across the country, sharing her love of the art with those who probably wouldn't have had the chance to learn otherwise. Lessons were provided free with each school hosting regular fundraising events and recitals to cover the costs. She'd made quite a name for herself and was honoured by National Lottery Funding and an award from the Prince's Trust. It was just as she was contemplating retirement and in the process of signing over the schools to her niece that the Royal Ballet had come knocking on her door, offering her the opportunity of a lifetime that she'd come to London and the job she'd always dreamed of. Having kept in touch with Cora Levinson for several years after their time together in America, she had been pleasantly surprised to see two of her daughters come under her tuition - she liked both girls, but it was in Sybil that she saw an awful lot of herself. Mary had been a sight to behold and Elsie couldn't recall the last time she saw a dancer with so much raw passion - she was imprecise but effortless. She'd always thought the girl a bit of an uppity minx herself, but it was no secret that the eldest Miss Crawley had won the affections of a certain Mr Charles Carson, curator of the Royal Opera House and a man with whom Elsie had a long standing friendship. Now that Mary had been snapped up by the Bolshoi, she wanted to give Sybil the chance to shine.

"An audition?" Sybil asks with surprise as she finds herself accosted in the corridor on her way to her first class of the day. "For Swan Lake?"

Elsie nods. "I've chosen six of you that I think may have a real shot at this. I need you in an hour early on Monday, is that alright?"

"Of course it is," she replies with an excitable smile. Ever since the first time she saw the video of her mother's breathtaking performance - the last of her career - Sybil had wanted to dance the part of the Swan Queen. As soon as she'd got the hang of dancing en pointe, she had pestered her teacher to begin showing her the very basics of the choreography. She has that innocence about her that Mary has always lacked, making her ideal casting for Odette, but Mary's alluring and sensual black swan had become something of a legend in the annals of the Royal's history. She had been acclaimed by several world renowned critics and called 'a worthy successor to the Levinson legacy'. While Sybil was more than happy just to dance for the love of it, there was a slightly narcissistic part of her that envied her sister and was perhaps ever so slightly jealous for, no matter how much she doubted herself sometimes, she was just as good to have gotten this far. Saying that she doubts herself is hitting the nail on the head - she lacks the confidence in her own ability and, to become a star, it's something that she needs to discover.

"So, Monday?" Elsie asks, bringing Sybil back into the present after she'd begun getting lost in her own thoughts.

"Monday," Sybil repeats. "I'll be there and, I'd just like to say, that even if I don't get the role I'm honoured that you'd even consider me so... thank you."

"It's alright, my lass," the older woman says with a smile. "You've earned it."

**_-xxx-_**

Although friends with many of the other dancers in the company, Sybil prefers to spend much of her free time in the wardrobe department and in the company of her closest friend, Thomas. It was an unlikely friendship of sorts, one which had come about quite by accident - Mary had become close to Anna, the senior wardrobe mistress, and through her Sybil had been introduced to Thomas. He had been thoroughly miserable when they'd first met but, once she'd gotten to know him, she'd discovered that he was actually fun to be around and had a wicked sense of humour that was more than a match for her own. Saying that though, if one more person said to her "_well every girl should have a gay best friend_" (or words to that effect) she would probably end up punching them in the face. Yes she found that she could talk to him about men and he had an interest in fashion, not to mention that he had a tendency to become a little bit flamboyant after several shots of tequila, but she liked him because he was just simply Thomas... he was her friend, pure and simple.

"So how's your day been?" she asks, perched in her usual spot on top of one of the work benches. "I haven't asked you that yet and God knows you've listened to me moan enough."

Thomas groans. "We've been back less than a week and already we're rushed off our feet," he says. "They want us to completely redesign the costumes for this new production of Swan Lake. The _corps_ is easy enough, but the powers that be think we should wait until the principles have been cast before we start working on them... get a bit of their personalities in the costumes, if you know what I mean?"

Sybil nods. "I think Jimmy Kent's a safe bet for Siegfried," she says, not missing the glimmer in Thomas' eyes when the dancer's name crops up. "Oh for God's sake," she sighs. "He's **not** gay!"

"We'll see."

Sybil shakes her head. "You're impossible, do you know that?"

"It has been said, I'll give you that one," he smirks. "What about the Swan Queen though, that's always the big one."

"I've been asked to audition."

"Sybil, that's brilliant!" he says, flashing her a rare smile. It's not very often that Thomas smiles at anyone and so, when he does, you know that you've managed to make a chink in his armour.

"Is it though?" she sighs. "You've heard what they all say about me. They say I have talent, but I just lack the passion that Mary had..."

"You really need to stop comparing yourself to her," he tells her for about the millionth time. "You're amazing but you just need to start believing in yourself a bit more."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Because it's true. Look, you need to relax a bit... when's the audition?"

"Monday."

"Well then have a relaxed weekend, don't stress yourself out and you'll be fine," he says, watching her as she twirls a discarded feather between her thumb and fingers. "Look, Gwen text me earlier and asked if I wanted to go out for drinks tonight. Come with us and have a bit of fun for once in your life."

Sybil groans. "Do I have to? I've had a shitty week and all I want to do is have a bath and curl up in bed in the company of Captain Wentworth."

"Is that what they're calling vibrators these days?"

"You're disgusting."

"I know... now, please, just come out. One drink?"

"Fine," she agrees at last. "But just one drink."

-xxx-

One drink turns into two and then two turns into shots. Their usual pub in Camden Town is packed to the rafters tonight - there's some sort of up and coming local indie band playing and, in all honesty, they're not that bad. They're playing a mix of their own songs and covers of classic anthems that really gets the crowd going and it isn't long before the trio are up and dancing with the rest of them. At around midnight, Thomas slips out for a cigarette (even now he's still bitter about the smoking ban) and Gwen disappears to get another round in at the bar. Absolutely bursting for a wee, Sybil fights her way through the crowd toward the ladies. Naturally, there's a queue, for it is a truth universally acknowledged that women cannot go to the loo on their own. There's a gaggle of girls who don't look anywhere near old enough to be in this establishment crowded round the mirror and discussing the relative merits of each of the band members as they apply their lipstick. She ruffles up her hair again, having given up on trying to tame her wild curls long ago, and sets off in search of her friends. Her phone buzzes in her pocket - it's Gwen.

_Hi, I'm in a taxi on the way home... thanks for a great night x_

_**No worries - I had fun too. Do you know where Thomas went?**_

_I thought you were with him - he left before I did._

"Shit!" Sybil curses, realising that she's been (unintentionally) left alone in the pub. She's not angry with her friends, these things happen, and so she decides to make a bid for the exit and home. As she turns on the spot, she crashes into the man standing behind her causing him to spill his pint of Guinness all down her grey cashmere cardigan.

"I am so sorry," he apologises, setting down the glass on a nearby vacant table. "Here, let me take that."

She looks at him quizzically as he reaches out to help her remove the cardigan. "It's fine," she says. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Wait here," he says with a smile, pulling out a chair for her to sit down on before heading straight to the men's toilets. He returns some time later, her cardigan draped over his arm only now somewhat cleaner and dry. "I tried my best," he says sheepishly. "But if it's a dry clean thing then I'll pay... like I said, I'm really sorry."

"And as **I **said, it was my fault... I can't be trusted on my own in public. I'm a liability."

He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. "So, what do we do? Do we exchange insurance documents and I'll see you in court, or do you let me buy you a drink and we settle it now?"

Sybil laughs - she knows she probably should go home, but there's something quite attractive about this man and just how adamant he is to make this up to her. "A drink would be lovely, though you should let me pay for yours."

He holds out a hand to stop her and shakes his head as she reaches into her bag for her purse. "No, I insist... you can buy the next round."

"_He's awfully sure of himself_," she thinks to herself. "_But maybe that's not a bad thing..._"

He was absolutely right - she does end up buying the next round and then they go halves on the third. They lose themselves in each other's company long into the early hours of the morning. She learns that his name is Tom and that he's from Dublin, that he came to England nearly ten years ago to study Politics and Communication Studies at the University of Liverpool and how he's the second youngest of five siblings. She regales him with stories of her own childhood (leaving out the part about how her Uncle is the Earl of Grantham) and her love of dance. They find mutual ground when they start discussing their favourite books and music - he's an aspiring journalist and had been sent to the pub to cover the gig by the small online local arts and culture magazine that he's doing the odd bit of work for. She likes the way his sensuous brogue sounds in her ear as they lean in close to be heard over the music, she likes the little thrill she gets whenever his body comes into contact with his - their thighs pressed together beneath the table, his arm resting on the back of her chair and the way he lets the tips of his fingers dance across the palm of her hand - and, when he kisses her at last, she knows that she isn't going home alone tonight.

**_-xxx-_**

And that's how she came to be fleeing from his flat sometime around mid morning, leaving nothing but a note on his fridge and the memory of an absolutely fantastic shag. She wonders now if she should have gotten his number - she had liked him very much and there was obvious chemistry. Saying that though, the last thing she needs right now is a man in her life and it's no use crying over what might have been. Instead, she goes home and takes a nice long bath, spending the rest of the weekend relaxing and getting herself into the right frame of mind for what could possibly be the most important moment of her career come Monday morning.

**_-xxx-_**

She concentrates on the spot on the wall in front of her as she warms up at the _barre_, repeating the same movements she does every morning like some sort of mantra. Their accompanist is late and tension is beginning to mount as the nerves begin to kick in - none of the girls even dare to look each other in the eye, afraid of breaking their focus. Finally, he decides to show his face, entering the studio with a pretty blonde whom Sybil can't recall seeing before by his side. She's so concerned with trying to figure out who this girl is that she doesn't notice his face, at least not until she steps up to dance Odile's coda.

Oh God.

It's him.

It's Tom.


	3. A New Swan Queen

**_I'm so so so sorry for the delay in updating this story - my life has been utter chaos recently what with exams, Uni, the Easter holidays and all sorts of crazy goings on. I've remembered what the other thing I had to say in the previous chapter was though. I know absolutely nothing about ballet. I've watched a couple of them online and stuff and I'm doing my research as I go along, so I can only apologise for any mistakes I make. This chapter was so difficult to write because I'm a little out of practice with this writing thing (or at least that's how it feels). Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

He seems to have realised it too as their eyes meet for the first time since that night on his living room floor as he watches her cross the floor. Something inside of her snaps and stirs up a torrent of emotions so powerful that she just wants to scream. She hasn't felt like this since she was a teenager and she knows that there's only one way to deal with it...

She has to dance.

She loses herself in the coda, forgetting where she is and just how important this audition is as she channels everything she's feeling into each step. She's angry and confused, frustrated and embarrassed and she absolutely despises herself right now. It's not the fact that she got drunk and had sex with a stranger - that's nothing to be ashamed of - but rather the way she treated him afterwards. She knows that she should probably try to make amends but hasn't got a clue where to start. More to the point, will he even want to speak to her? With one last burst of aggression and energy, she throws everything she's got into the fouettés, knowing that this is her moment to make an impression.

Breathing heavily, she comes to a halt as the music ends and - the other girls are staring at her and some whisper among themselves. Her heat sinks as she realises that her performance must have been atrocious. She'd been too preoccupied with her thoughts that she had lost sight of what had been important right at this moment in time. She knows that she's scuppered her chances of securing her dream role and all because of some stupid man and his inappropriately timed reappearance into her life. It's one of those things that she might very well laugh about later but, right this second, all she wants to do is cry.

"Well thank you, Sybil," says Elsie from her chair at the side of the room. "I think that's all I need to see."

"But the white..."

"No, it's fine," she interrupts. "You'll know my decision by the end of the day."

She knows that she could stay and watch the other girls audition but that's the last thing she needs right now. With plenty of time before her first class of the day is due to start, she feels an overwhelming need to pay a visit to the wardrobe department.

"Ihadsexwithsomerandomhotguyf romthepubtheothernightandhe'sjustshownupatmyauditionasou rnewaccompanist..."

With a sigh, Thomas throws another teabag into a spare mug and lets her catch her breath. "Do you want to repeat that?" he asks. "In English this time."

Sybil sighs. "The other night, after you and Gwen had both left and I didn't know that I was on my own, I met this guy. We started talking, had a few drinks and, in the end, one thing led to another and we... well..."

"You little minx," her friend says with a devilish smirk. "What was he like?"

"In what context?" she asks. "Actually... don't answer that. Anyway, I left his flat without saying goodbye and now he's just turned up at my audition as our new accompanist."

"Awkward."

"Mmm," she agrees, gratefully accepting the tea he's just made. "That's putting it bluntly. I was absolutely mortified and I think I screwed up because of it."

"Did you watch any of the others?"

"No... I went first and then I left."

"Then how do you know that you were the worst? What do we keep telling you about having a bit of self confidence?"

Sybil slumps her shoulders in defeat. "I know but... I know that I could have done better. I know that, if I put my mind to it, I am good enough for this role... but I didn't put my mind to it and that's the problem." She drains the rest of her tea and sets the mug back down on the worktop. "Thanks for that, I needed it," she says with a smile. "Though I really should get going. You know how Andrei gets if we're late."

"Alright, though let me know who gets it."  
"I will... see you later."

As Sybil steps out into the hallway, she bumps into the pretty blonde that had walked in with Tom earlier.

"Oh, hi," she says with a bright smile. "You left before I had chance to introduce myself. I'm Edna though everyone calls me Eddie... as in Monsoon."

"Sybil." she replies with a smile. "How did your audition go?"

"Fine, I suppose," replies Eddie with a shrug. "Though nowhere near as good as yours."

Sybil quirks an eyebrow. "Oh I'm sure it was," she replies. "I was hardly on top form?"

"Are you serious? You were wonderful," Eddie tells her too enthusiastically for Sybil's liking. "Is it true that you're Mary Crawley's sister?"

"Yes."

"And Cora Levinson's daughter?"

"Yes."

"That's quite a legacy... they'd be really proud of you if you got this part."

Sybil merely nods - Eddie's energy is a little bit too much for her to handle right now and she knows that she's probably coming across as being ever so slightly rude but there will be plenty of time for her to make up for it later.

"Come on," she says after a moment or two. "We'll be late."

**_-xxx-_**

She sees Tom several more times throughout the day, but it's only as she's sitting on the floor with a mug of tea and her battered copy of Fitzgerald's the Great Gatsby in hand waiting for the cast list to be published that he finally approaches her. She smiles politely in his direction and is about to say hello when one of the other girls who had auditioned, Lily, comes running up to her with a broad grin upon her face.

"It's up... comes see."

Reluctantly, Sybil follows close behind and, half expecting to see herself having been cast as a big swan or part of the _pas de quatre _she scans the bottom of the list.

It isn't there.

Lily squeals and squeezes, squeezes her shoulder and, the next thing she knows. people are hugging her and offering their congratulations.

No...

It couldn't possibly be?

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, only opening them again when she's ready to see whether or not her suspicions are true. Sure enough, there it is in black and white.

**The Swan Queen **- Sybil Crawley

**_-xxx-_**

Naturally, her mother cries the second her youngest daughter breaks the news of her starring role and immediately begins making plans for the two of them to meet for lunch some time later in the week in order to celebrate. She knows she'll probably be so busy from now on, but it's been so long since she and Cora spent any time alone together that she's sure she can squeeze in an early dinner or something. Next on the list is Mary with whom she's already scheduled to have a Skype chat with. At 7pm on the dot, the call comes through.

"How's Russia?"

"Cold," her sister replies, sitting on her bed with a thick blanket draped around her shoulders. "Thank you for letting me bring Grandmama's fur coat with me. I know how much you love it but it's been an absolute godsend."

Sybil shrugs nonchalantly. Mary's right, she does adore that fur coat of Martha's that she'd pilfered from the many old trunks in her grandmother's attic the last time they'd visited her in the States. Sybil had spent most of her days up in those lofts reawakening all the memories of a bygone era. Martha had been so stunningly beautiful back in the day - a true 1950s pin-up - and Sybil had fallen in love with her style and her stories of the golden age of Hollywood in which, at one point, she'd managed to dip her toes into. Shortly after the family's arrival back home, an obscenely large box had arrived addressed to Sybil filled with a number of items that she'd fallen in love with, the coney fur coat being among them.

"Have you started rehearsals yet?"

Mary nods. "Sleeping Beauty," she says. "It's been a while since I did that one and I'm a little rusty. I'm dancing Princess Florine."

"Oh I love that!" Sybil practically squeals with delight. "We're doing Swan Lake."

"Ugh, I'm jealous... though I suppose there'll be a new Swan Queen."

"It's funny you should say that."

"Sybil?"

"I GOT IT!" For the first time all day, she allows herself to get a little excited and feel proud of what she's achieved. "I couldn't believe it when I found out. I made such a mess of the audition that I thought I'd screwed up my chances," she grins. "I'm just so happy to have been given this chance and now I'm going to work my arse off to prove that I deserve it."

Mary smiles. "You **do** deserve it but just promise me something, Little Swan... don't let this role take over your life. Yes it's going to be hard but there's such a thing as working too hard. You're going to be wonderful, I just know it."

"Oh you've been gone less than a week and already I miss you so much."  
"I know darling, I miss you too and I'll come home as soon as I can... definitely for Christmas though."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise," she smiles. "Now, go on, go and get something to eat and have an early night. The next few days are going to be tough."

**_-xxx-_**

Just as she's defrosting some bread in the microwave to have with her soup, there's a knock at the front door. Glancing at the clock on her phone, she wonders who could possibly want to see her at this time of night. She's pleasantly surprised to see Gwen, Thomas, and a few other people standing in the hallway.

"So we heard that our new Swan Queen was cooped up on her own tonight instead of celebrating," says Gwen, presenting her friend with a bottle of wine. "We thought that that was ridiculous so we decided to come to you. Don't worry, we won't stay late."

"Umm... thank you," she replies and pulls Gwen into a hug. "I was just making soup... there should be enough if anyone else wants some."

There's a general murmur of agreement from her unexpected visitors. Most people would probably feel incredibly put out at a situation like this but Sybil thrives off them - she loves her friends and their unpredictable nature sometimes and this seems as good a night as any to be in their company.

"Oh and, by the way," Thomas says as the small party step into Sybil's flat. "This is Eddie. She's come down from the Northern Ballet and we thought it would be nice if she came over with us."

Sybil smiles as she shakes Eddie's hand. "It's not like you to be nice," she smirks before turning her attention back to Eddie."We met this morning."

Eddie nods and begins to remove her scarf and coat as she drops Sybil's hand. "I told you were brilliant," she says. "I hope you don't mind but I invited Tom too. He's new as well and we could both do with getting to know some people."

"_Oh no_," thinks Sybil to herself. "_Not now... not here. This is **so **awkward... what do I do? What would Mary do? Oh God, that's probably not the best question to ask... think, Sybil, **think**!"_

"Hi," smiles Tom.

"Ummm... you can leave your shoes and stuff wherever you want."

"Thanks."

Once he's gone towards the sofas with the others, Sybil rolls her eyes and sighs. "_You can leave your shoes and stuff wherever you want? Fucking brilliant... well done._"

**_-xxx-_**

She jumps right out of her skin as she feels a cold hand brushing against the bare skin of her back whilst she's dishing up the soup.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," a familiar Irish accented voice says quietly from behind her. "The least I can do is offer to help considering we've all just barged in and imposed on your hospitality."

Sybil shakes her head. "Don't worry about it," she smiles. "I'm used to it with this lot... I'll tell you what you can do though. Can you butter some of this bread for me? I'll be here forever otherwise."

"Sure," Tom agrees. "Is it in the fridge?"

"Mmhmm," she nods. "And there are knives in that drawer there."

There are a couple of moments of comfortable silence between them as they go about their tasks. "I don't pretend to know much about ballet, but I thought you were incredible when you auditioned this morning."

"Thank you," replies Sybil with a faint blush on her cheeks as she looks up at him. "But how are you an accompanist for one of the most prestigious companies in the world and yet you know nothing about what we do?"

Tom chuckles. "It's a long story."

"Look, Tom," she says, deciding that now is as good a time as any to say what she has to say to him. "I don't know how much you remember but..."

"Sorry to interrupt," he apologises. "But I think I know where you're going with this. Friday night was... amazing. I got your note in the morning though..."

"I'm sorry... I didn't know what else to do and I've spent the entire weekend feeling so guilty. It was even worse when I saw you this morning."

"I wish you would have stayed," he admits. "Though I'm glad that fate seems to have other ideas and we've ended up meeting again."

"You must think me terribly heartless... that's not something I do often, just so you know."

"What, sleeping with random guys you just happen to meet in pubs or sneak off in the morning?"

"Both."

"Do you think we could be friends?" asks Tom rather sincerely. "It's just that, what Eddie said was right, I don't really know anyone at the moment and we're going to be spending quite a bit of time together over the next few weeks."

Sybil smiles as she picks up the first two bowls of soup. "I think I'd like that," she says to him.

"Good," he replies. "Because God knows I'm going to need somebody to explain this whole ballet thing to me."

"_Friends_," she thinks to herself. "_Friends I can do_."


	4. Piano Man

**_I was going to update this sooner, but I wanted to concentrate on finishing I'll Be Seeing You (which has now come to an end and I'm still sad about it - thank you all once again for your continued support on that project). Anyway, now that that's done, Ballabile will be my main focus and I don't plan for it to be very long so hopefully we should come to the end soon. A few notes on this chapter - the way that Tom perhaps comes across as being a bit of a good old fashioned lover boy (cue the song) and his view of women is important to, not only his background (which you'll learn more of later) but also the relationship he builds with Sybil given her romantic history. Also, Sybil's jealousy towards the end of the chapter will also come into play again soon. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

His rough hands palm the flesh of her breasts and her back arches up off the mattress as he kisses down her stomach. She wants him so badly, craving him with every fibre of her being even though they're both adamant that they're nothing more than friends. She closes her eyes and surrenders herself to the feeling of having him pleasure her in the most exquisite way, bringing her closer and closer to an earth shattering orgasm.

And then she wakes up.

These dreams are becoming more and more frequent and the illicit thoughts she's been having of late are beginning to drive her crazy. Each and every time she wakes her breathing his heavy and there's a familiar dampness in her knickers. It's not much better during the day either for whenever she catches sight of his bare forearms or that lopsided and somewhat charming smile he gives to her whenever she meets his eyes, her heart skips a beat and it's enough to send her weak at the knees. Given how their first meeting had ended, she wonders if it would be easier just to fuck him and put an end to this near constant state of frustration. Saying that though, things aren't quite that simple any more - it's been well over a month since that night and, even in such a short space of time, he's become one of her dearest friends and to do so would just ruin everything that they have.

But then friends don't have dirty dreams about each other, do they?

With a groan of frustration, she kicks back the duvet and reaches into the drawer of her bedside table for the purple Rampant Rabbit that Thomas and Gwen had purchased as a birthday gift for her after breaking up with her last boyfriend (she'd joked that they should have bought it earlier because he was lousy in bed) - she'd never really intended to use it, but curiosity had gotten the better of her and she'd wondered why she hadn't bought herself one earlier. It wasn't as good as the real thing (she was someone who loved to feel the emotional side of sex - the cuddles, the kisses and just lying in the darkness afterwards listening to the sound of a racing heart and ragged breath), but it would suffice. Though that got her thinking about the real thing with Tom and how, although she'd been drunk and it wasn't anything serious, she'd really felt... something. Not to mention the fact that he was good...

**Really** good.

"Stupid bloody man," she sighs to herself before beginning to fantasise once more about just what that stupid bloody man was capable of.

**_-xxx-_**

Somewhere across the city, that same man lies in a similar state of frustration. With one hand around his still half-erect cock and his seed splattered across his stomach, he glances over his shoulder and checks the time on his alarm clock. Quarter-to-six may still be a bit early, but he's in desperate need of a shower and a cold one at that. Once in the bathroom, he rids himself of his clothes, tossing them aside on the floor where they'll probably remain for the next week or so (it's always been one of his bad habits), and steps into the shower. He takes after his mother in that his best thoughts always come when he's in water - it's one of the reasons that he loves to swim so much and he'd once tried it competitively during his childhood in Ireland, but he'd decided that rugby was more his forte and had returned to the pool solely to lose himself in his thoughts. He's written whole paragraphs of some of his best articles and essays in his university days whilst taking a shower but, this time, his thoughts and dreams are much more disturbing and somewhat unwelcome. It's not the object of these thoughts that troubles him, but more the nature of them - a beautiful girl in tight lycra, working up a sweat as she does incredible things with her legs has come into his life and the illicit thoughts he's been having about her have had him wanking more than a teenage boy watching Hollyoaks. The thoughts unnerve and repulse him slightly, for he's never once in his life viewed a woman as a sex object - even as a teenager, the derogatory comments his friends would make as they'd flick through a stolen porn magazine whilst sneaking fag round the back of the science labs at school would make him angry. Of course, it had led to much taunting from the other boys who'd made jibes about his sexuality and such, but he'd soon silenced them all when an article he wrote for the student newspaper about the adverse affect the porn industry had on the self esteem of young people had won him great acclaim and, eventually, the heart of Abbie Munroe - the captain of the girls' hockey team who had been lusted after by every boy in their year since she'd come back from the summer holidays in year nine, filling out her bra much more than most of the other girls did. Tom, however, had seen past all that (though he did have to acknowledge that she was beautiful) and Abbie had been his first love - he'd lost his virginity to her (albeit very unromantically on the backseat of her car on his seventeenth birthday), was treated as part of the family by her parents and they'd even gone on holiday together to a caravan owned by one of his cousins in Tenby in Wales (again, not the most romantic of destinations, but it had been the thought that counted). It had all been going so well up until they went their separate ways for University - him going to Liverpool and her staying in Dublin - and she'd called him tearfully late one night to say that she'd met someone else and that it was over. He'd had a couple of girlfriends since then and a fair few casual flings, but no woman had ever made him feel the way that Abbie Munroe had...

Until now.

He lusts after Sybil, there's no point in even trying to deny it, and a part of him wants to woo her and to show her that he's worthy of her love like a suitor of old (she's practically an aristocrat, for God's sake, the very least she deserves is to be treated like a Lady). Saying that though, there's a part of him that has lain dormant and the beast within just wants to give in to temptation and for it to be like that first night they'd spent together on his living room floor - rough, carnal and without the romance that he so desperately wants. The worst part is that she's fast becoming one of his very best friends and to make a move in the hope of taking their relationship further could potentially ruin everything that they have.

With a weary sigh, he rests his head against the cold porcelain tiles - he's never felt more confused in his life but, for the moment, all he can do is sit on the sidelines and watch her dance, losing his heart to her piece by piece.

**_-xxx-_**

Their choreographer, Andrei, is pushing them harder than ever - Tom's fingers and wrists ache from playing the same thing over and over again but he imagines that it's nothing compared to what those dancers must be going through. He catches Sybil's eye and smiles reassuringly at her as she tries to catch her breath. To him, she seems to be absolutely perfect (though he's in no position to make any sort of professional judgement on that score), but he can see the disappointment in her eyes. Things start going from bad to worse when the Russian has the corps come together to rehearse the final scene - she's graceful and effortless, perfectly capturing Odette's despair as her prince begs for forgiveness but, as Jimmy lifts her high into the air, his hold on her slips and she comes crashing down with a loud _thud_ and a yelp of pain as her knee smacks against the floor. Tom abruptly stops playing and practically jumps to his feet - not knowing exactly what he should do but wanting to help somehow.

"Shit," Jimmy curses. "Shit, Sybil... I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," she says through gritted teeth as he and the Parisian dancing Von Rothbart helps her to her feet. "It was an accident... these things happen."  
Unfortunately, Andrei doesn't quite see it in the same way and begins ranting and raving in fluent Russian. "For Christ's sake, Jimmy!" he yells, his accent heavy on account of his anger. "Where is your head at today, boy? All of you, take a break and, Sybil, go and see the physio."

"But..." she protests, only to be cut off before she can even say what she has to say.

"Now!"

Knowing that it's best to do as she's told and remain in Andrei's good books, Sybil retreats out of the studio only to start hobbling when she thinks that nobody's looking - of course, what she doesn't see is that Tom has followed her just to see how she is.

"Are you alright?" he asks, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She smiles through her pain and nods. "Fine," she lies. "Nothing some ice and a few ibuprofen can't fix. I've had worse."

He catches her then as she takes another step, only for it to be too much and her knee almost gives way underneath her. "Here," he says, offering her his arm. "Lean on me."

She smiles in thanks at him as she takes hold of his arm, trying not to blush as those naughty thoughts come racing back when she feels the muscles tense beneath his shirt. "Thank you," she says. "You're a darling."

**_-xxx-_**

The pair of them find themselves alone the following afternoon, Sybil having persuaded Andrei to let her have some extra time in the studio to make up for what she'd missed the previous day having been instructed to rest. She'd told Tom that she was fine, but they've reached that point in their friendship where he's beginning to be able to tell when she's not being entirely honest with her. Still, he can also tell when she's going to be stubborn, and he knows that it's no use trying to argue with her - she knows her own body better than anyone else and, if she thinks she's capable of dancing, then it's best just to leave her to it.

She yelps in pain much as she had done yesterday as she feels something give way in her knee again as she attacks the fouettés in Odile's coda - it's not the first time she's hurt herself like this, but she's worked far too hard to get to where she is to throw it all away now. She can already hear Mary's lecture in her head, telling her just to get it checked out properly or risk the end of her career (what's a five minute x-ray to compared to the rest of her professional life?). She's stubborn though - she wishes she wasn't, but she's a Crawley and stubbornness is something of a family trait.

"Are you alright?" he asks, stopping his playing and getting to his feet in an offer to give her some assistance.

"I'm fine," she groans, more out of disappointment for not finishing than on account of the pain in her leg. "I just need a minute and then we'll go again."

Tom sighs. "You're working far too hard, you know."

"So everyone keeps saying."

"Well then don't you think you should listen?" he retorts a little more harshly than intended. "Go home, have a bath, read a book or watch something on telly. Anything... just do something that you enjoy."

"I enjoy dancing," replies Sybil. "I'm paid to dance and I need to keep practising until I'm perfect."

He has to bite his tongue from telling her just how perfect he thinks she is - now isn't the right time for that and he's almost certain that she doesn't return his feelings beyond the realm of friendship. "But sometimes when you have to do something all the time, you stop seeing it as being fun."

"Is that how you feel about playing the piano?" she asks. "Play something."

"You hear me play every day."

"Yes, but they're the things you have to play, not the things you like." She moves to lean against the piano, taking the weight off her knee slightly.

"I like Tchaikovsky."

"Well what else?"

Deep in thought, he flexes his fingers as he tries to think of something. "Do you know Debussy?"

Sybil nods. "A little."

He smiles at her - that little half smile that even she has to admit makes her swoon - and begins to play. She recognises the melody instantly.

"Clare de Lune."

"You know this one?"

"It... it's my favourite," she tells him, whispered as though she's sharing some long suppressed secret. She watches him play, having never really had the chance to do so before now, and is absolutely fascinated by the way his fingers glide across the keys, wondering how it's possible for a man who works with his hands in the way he does to be so gifted at something so delicate.

"What are you doing?" he asks as she leaves his side and slowly returns to the centre of the room.

"Dancing," she replies with a smile. "In a way that I don't have to... just for fun."

Now it's his turn to watch and he glances at her out of the corner of his eye, mesmerised by the way she moves. He's admired her talent since the very first time he saw her dance, but there's just something about the way that she's losing herself in the moment that captivates him - he's no expert when it comes to ballet and nor does he claim to be, but at last he understands what people mean when they keep telling her that she needs to stop trying so hard to achieve the perfection that she so desperately craves. She's commanding his full attention now, so much so that he can no longer concentrate on playing, and yet she doesn't notice - she just keeps on dancing, only stopping when she feels him reach for her hand having left his seat at the piano to join her on the floor.

"Amazing," he says sincerely. He's at a loss as to what to say for no words can do what he's just seen justice. "You're amazing."

She blushes prettily and stares down at her feet before looking back up at him with a somewhat smug smirk. "See, these things are still fun."

"I suppose you're right," he replies and can't help but notice how close they're standing to each other and how her gaze keeps dropping from his eyes to his lips and back again. He so desperately wants to close this gap between them, to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless just as he had that night they first met.

He's fallen in love with her and there's absolutely no point in denying it anymore.

"So... erm... are you going to the fundraiser tonight?" she asks, breaking the silence between them at last.

Tom shakes his head. "I don't think so, no... or at least I wasn't planning to."

"Oh," Sybil replies, staring at the floor to conceal her disappointment. "That's a shame... I know it sounds frightfully dull but, with the right people, it can actually be a bit of a laugh."

He sighs in defeat - it's not hard to see what she's hinting at. "But what will I wear?"

Her smile lights up her face brighter than the sun and she practically squeals with delight. "Oh, don't worry about that," she says, retrieving her bag from underneath the barre by the mirror. "I know someone who'll be able to help you... here's his address. I'll text him and tell him to expect you." She tears a corner from one of the pages of her diary and scribbles down where to find this friend of hers.

Tom looks at the paper quizzically. "This is... never mind," he says, deciding that it can wait. "So, I'll see you tonight then?"

"See you tonight, Tom."

**_-xxx-_**

She stands out from the crowd, looking radiant in white amidst the endless see of black and he pauses for a moment at the back of the room, accepting two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter as he sees that hears is empty. She's in the middle of a conversation with a small group of people - one Tom recognises as being her mother and so he assumes that the man whose arm she's holding on to must be her husband and Sybil's father. As for the third person, the man has a face that he recognises but he just can't place it. She meets his eyes at last and smiles at him before excusing herself from the group for a moment.

"You made it," she smiles, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I had thought that you weren't going to come."

"Sorry," he apologises. "But I took one look at myself in the mirror wearing this monkey suit and I thought I looked ridiculous."

Sybil shakes her head. "Quite the opposite," she says. "I'd say you look rather dashing. Was Matthew alright with lending you the tux?"

"Yeah... actually, he and I already know each other."

"Oh?"

"Remember how I said that I got the job at the Royal because a friend's girlfriend danced here and mentioned that they were looking for a new accompanist when the old one went on maternity leave? Well, the friend was Matthew."

"Which would make the girlfriend..."  
"Your sister," he says."I can't believe I didn't recognise you earlier... you're in a photograph in Matthew's flat with the rest of your family. Well, the photo used to be there but I think it's gone now that he and Mary have split up."

"Small world," she says. "Is one of those going spare?"

"Sorry, yes," he replies, handing her the glass and chinking his own against it. "Cheers."

"So how exactly do you know Matthew then?"

"We play on the same rugby team," Tom tells her. "He's our fly half."

She looks genuinely impressed by this. "I didn't know you played rugby."

"I have done since I was about nine," he says. "Only started taking it seriously from being fifteen or so. I play fullback."

"A man of many talents, Mr Branson."

Tom chuckles. "Aye, jack of all trades and master of fuck all."

She playfully swats his arm and giggles. "You're far too hard on yourself sometimes."

"Hark at the pot calling the kettle black."

"Shut up," she chides, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue at him. "Now, come with me, there's somebody I want you to meet." She practically drags him across the room towards the man whose name he couldn't remember for the life of him. "Tom, I'd like you to meet Michael Gregson, he's an editor at the Guardian. Mr Gregson, this is Tom Branson, the writer I was telling you about."

**That** is where Tom knows the man from and he can't help but smile over the fact that Sybil has spoken to the editor about him. "Pleasure to meet you, sir," he says, shaking the older man's hand.

Gregson chuckles. "Michael, please," he says. "Though if what Miss Crawley here has told me, the pleasure is entirely mine."

Satisfied that the wheels of her plan are firmly in motion, Sybil smiles and takes her leave once more. "I'll be back soon," she says to Tom. "I have a little more schmoozing to do, we need our cash and all that."

**_-xxx-_**

Going to the loo in a ball gown is never easy and she makes a not to remember never to have one of those huge princess dresses should she ever decide to get married. Sitting on the toilet, she pulls her phone out of her bag and laughs out loud as she sees the message from Thomas that has just come through.

_BRANSON LOOKS HOT. I'D TAP THAT BUT IT'S YOU HE'S INTO._

She rolls her eyes as she composes her reply.

_I AGREE, HE DOES LOOK GOOD BUT IT'S NOT LIKE THAT. WE'RE JUST FRIENDS._

Thomas' own reply arrives mere seconds later.

_YEAH, RIGHT... IN THAT CASE, I COULD DO WITH A FRIEND LIKE THAT._

Her stomach flutters as she thinks about what Thomas said - could it really be possible that he sees her as more than a friend? Or at least that there's potential for him to see her as something more? Usually, she'd just tell herself to man up and find out but something feels different about this - when she looks at Tom, her wonderfully talented piano man, she feels something that she's not sure she's ever felt before. So strange are these feelings that she can't even begin to put a name on them and that's what scares her the most. She's been rejected by boys who she wanted as more than friends in the past and the heartbreak hurt - though perhaps the biggest difference here is that Tom is very much a man, she's not sure that she could deal with that on top of everything else that she has to worry about right now.

Regathering herself, she comes out of the ladies and sees the very man she's been thinking about now in the company of her friends. He's clutching a very expensive bottle of champagne in one hand and has the other arm wrapped around Eddie's waist - she's got her hands placed on his chest as she laughs at something he's said, only to smile brightly at Sybil and hurry towards her when she spots her eventually.

"There you are!" she says, reaching for Sybil's hand. "Come on, now that all the arse kissing's done we're all going back to Tom's for a little after party."

The way the blonde (who looks rather stunning in an asymmetrical black gown and with her hair falling in loose waves around her face) had been standing with her friend and the way she says his name so casually stirs up a feeling inside Sybil that she knows she can identify...

Jealously.

"_Stop it!_" she chastises herself. "_You have no right to be jealous... he's your friend and he can flirt with whoever he likes._"

"Thomas, we can't take the champagne!" Gwen protests as he presses a bottle into her hands (making it three between them that the group has somehow manage to acquire).

"Ohhh, they can take it out of my wages," he slurs and puts an unlit cigarette into his mouth ready to light when they get outside. "Now, come on, let's go. Coming, Crawley?"

"Yes," she nods, looking round the room to see if there's anyone of great importance that she should really say goodbye to before disappearing into the night. Standing by her parents is a tall, dark haired man that she doesn't recognise with his hand on the lower back of a pretty redhead who is also unfamiliar to her, only for her to get the shock of her life when he turns round to smile in her direction.

"Well bugger me," she mutters under her breath, making a note to Skype Mary as soon as possible.

**_-xxx-_**

The so called 'after party' continues long into the early hours of the morning with most of them leaving around three o'clock. Living on the other side of the city to the others, it was just Sybil now left at Tom's and the two of them were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa in a somewhat dishevelled state compared to their polished and preened appearances earlier.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" he asks, pulling the bowtie that had been hanging open around his neck from under the collar of his shirt and carelessly tossing it aside.

Sybil shakes her head as she tries yet another taxi firm. "Actually," she says, biting her lip almost nervously. "A cup of tea wouldn't go amiss."

Tom chuckles. "You read my mind," he says. "I'm getting too old for all this party business."

"You're twenty-eight," she replies with a laugh, hanging up the phone again and watching him potter around the kitchen.

"I know, but the point remains the same," he tells her. "You know, you're not going to get a taxi. This is London on a Friday night... even I know that and I've lived here a lot less longer than you have."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" she asks, gratefully accepting the steaming hot mug of tea from him (he knows exactly how she takes it without even asking which earns him several more Brownie points). "I'm certainly not walking and my dress will get ruined on the Tube."

"You could always stay here," he tells her and her eyes widen in surprise. "No... I mean... I'm not suggesting anything, not in the slightest. But really, it doesn't make much sense for you to leave now."

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not in the slightest," he smiles. "Come on, I'll find you something to sleep in."

He's just passing the bathroom when she finally emerges, dressed in a pair of his boxers and an old University of Liverpool rugby shirt.

"Where are you going?" she asks, seeing that he's carrying a pillow and a spare duvet.

"I'll sleep on the sofa," he says. "You have the bed."  
"Don't be daft," she replies. "It's your bed. Either I'll have the sofa or I really don't mind sharing." Their eyes meet then, both slightly startled at what she's just said. "I mean... if that's alright with you?"

Tom nods, swallowing hard at the thought of spending a whole night lying beside her - his dreams had been bad enough when she was miles away (but little does he know that hers have been exactly the same). "Fine," he says. "Absolutely fine."

"Tom," she says after they're finally curled up in bed, her nestled into his side with their legs twining together almost of their own accord.

"Hmm?"

"I'm so glad I met you... I think you might be one of the best friends I've ever had."

"That's good to know," he replies. "Though I don't think I told you something that **you** should know... you looked so beautiful tonight."

He can't see her blush in the darkness, but he feels her lips against his cheek as she kisses him in thanks. They seem to reach for each other then, each holding the other so impossibly close as they drift off into a contented sleep, only to dream of each other and wonder when it will be that one of them finally makes the first move.


	5. Breakfast At Tiffany's

**_Thank you all so much for your response to the last chapter - I'm glad some of you are still with me despite the delay in posting. I now have a blog dedicated to all my fanfiction and you can find it at teaattheabbey over on Tumblr. I've posted a soundtrack to this story on there titled 'Bedroom Hymns: Songs for a Swan Queen' so head over there and check it out if you want (everything's linked to YouTube videos so there's no need to download). Shameless self promotion over with, I present to you the morning after the night before. Enjoy and let me know what you think (and beware of the fluff) :) x_**

* * *

He wakes the following morning to the feeling of somebody ruffling his hair. It's a pleasant feeling and he sighs happily into the touch that he knows can only be hers as his eyes flutter open at last.

"I made tea," she says, pointing to the two mugs on the bedside table. "It was the least I could do to say thank you."

"You really didn't have to," replies Tom groggily - he knows he must look so rough with his mussed hair and morning stubble, and yet there she stands wearing his clothes and looking absolutely stunning. "But thank you."

She crawls back into bed beside him and passes over one of the mugs. "This is nice," she says, only to blush with embarrassment when her stomach rumbles loudly.

Tom laughs. "You hungry?"

Sybil nods sheepishly. "I hardly ate a thing yesterday," she admits. "I know that's really bad, but I just didn't seem to have the time."  
"Come on then," he says, getting up despite her having just made herself comfortable. "I'll see what I've got in."

She adores Tom's kitchen - this is how a kitchen should look. It's sleek and shiny and everything has its place - from the sharp set of professional looking knives to the spices lined up against the wall. He's a man who loves to cook and, though she's yet to judge him for herself, he claims that he's rather good at it.

"Look in the fridge and tell me what you want..."

"Anything at all?" she asks, opening the door and studying the contents for inspiration.

He nods as he turns on the hob and fills up the kettle again. "Anything... you keep asking if I'm as good in the kitchen as I say I am."

"Eggs Benedict," she suggests, really deciding to try and test him.

"Done," he replies, twirling a pan around in his hand by the handle. "Pass me the eggs... please."

She does as he asks and spots a half full bottle of champagne from the night before still in the fridge and it gives her an idea. Reaching into the cupboard where she'd found the glasses earlier, she pours them each some before jumping up on the worktop and watching him cook.

"I don't think I've ever had champagne with breakfast before," he says. "I've had it after breakfast at my brother's wedding, but never with."

"Oh darling, you're missing out," she says in her most aristocratic of voices. "We do it all the time back home."

Tom pauses for a moment as he whisks up a perfect hollandaise and looks over his shoulder at her with a quizzical look on his face. "Really?"

Sybil giggles. "No, of course not," she tells him. "Only on special occasions like Christmas or birthdays. I think poor Edith was far too nervous to drink anything on the day she was getting married... though she did get quite tipsy afterwards."

"I didn't know Edith was married."

"She isn't," Sybil replies. "That's why she got drunk... you know politics, don't you?"

"I'd say I know a fair bit."

"Do you know Anthony Strallan?"

"The minister for agriculture?"

Sybil nods. "That's the one. Well she was supposed to marry him but he left her standing at the altar."  
"What a prick."

"He's a nice enough man, as far as some of our ex-boyfriends go, but yeah, I agree, it was a pretty dickish thing to do considering he said that he'd been having doubts... something to do with her age and the things people were saying. It all became a bit too much I guess. She still works at the ministry though; she didn't think she should have to give up a job that she enjoyed and that she was good at just because of things that had happened in her personal life. She's really come out of her shell in recent years and it's really nice to see... even Mary thinks so and they don't really get on all that well." She looks up them to see him staring at her, arms folded across his chest and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Sorry," she apologises. "I talk too much, don't I?"

Tom chuckles. "Not at all... it's nice, if anything. This place is far too quiet."

"Have you always lived alone?"  
Tom shakes his head. "I lived with my brother for a couple of months after graduating from uni, working in his garage while I looked for something else to come along. That's the problem of being a freelancer, nothing's ever certain."

"You'll get there someday," Sybil says. "Michael Gregson seemed impressed with you last night."

"He has my number," he replies. "He said that he'd call me about maybe sending some of my stuff over."

"See!" she says with excitement. "That's brilliant... I was right to tell him I had a good feeling about you."

By the time their breakfast is cooked, Tom's small flat is filled with such a heavenly aroma that Sybil can't wait to get stuck in. Plates and tumblers of champagne in hand (she couldn't find wine glasses and it was a long shot to think that he had champagne flutes), they sit themselves down at opposite ends of the sofa, both of her feet resting between his.

"Sorry I didn't have English muffins... are you sure toast is an acceptable substitute?"

Sybil nods as she cuts through her eggs. "It's inventive," she says. "I like that."

He nearly chokes then when she takes a mouthful of food and makes a sound that is positively orgasmic. "Good?"

"So good," she replies. "Mechanic, writer, pianist and now future Masterchef winner... you've certainly got talent."

Tom laughs. "I'm not so sure about that," he says. "My sister wanted me to apply a couple of years ago and almost went as far as filling in the application forms for me. I told her I wasn't going to do it though."

"How come?"

"Because I just cook for the love of it... it's not like I want to make a career out of it," he replies. "Plus I was a little terrified. I know how much Greg Wallace loves a good pudding and I'm not much of a baker."

Sybil giggles. "Pudding is the best part of any meal though."

"Oh, I agree, I just can't make them."

"I bake," she tells him. "I'm not that good but I enjoy it. I've convinced myself that I'm going to marry Paul Hollywood."

"Isn't he married already?"

"And?" she says, completely straight faced but she can't keep up the facade for very long and starts laughing again. "I'm joking... but I am a bit in love with him and Mary Berry's a goddess. People keep buying me her cookbooks whenever it's my birthday but I don't mind because I love playing around in the kitchen whenever I have time. It's quite soothing."

"Exactly," Tom agrees. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

They sit in silence for a few more minutes as they finish off their food and Tom can practically see the cogs turning in Sybil's mind as she loses herself deep in thought. "What are you doing today?"

"Nothing," he says. "I usually spend Saturdays trying to write but I'm completely out of ideas at the moment. You?"

"I was thinking that maybe we could spend it together then," she says. "I mean, I'll need to go home and change first but you said that you'd never had champagne with breakfast before and it got me thinking of all the things I've never done. We could go into town and each take turns doing the things we've never done but always wanted to."

"Like in Breakfast at Tiffany's?"

"You know that film?"  
"It's a classic," he replies with a smile. "One of my favourites, actually."

Sybil can't help but smile at this latest revelation."There's still so much I don't know about you. You really are full of surprises."

"Then let's take this plan of yours a step further and say that, while doing the things we've never done, we learn a bit more about each other... get to know one another properly."

Sybil furrows her brow. "That makes it sound an awful lot like a date."

"Well, for now, we'll say that it's not but we can talk about it at the end of the day and see if we want to change our minds on that score."

She nods in agreement. "Alright, then it's not a date but might be a date."  
Tom laughs. "Grand," he says, running a hand across his chin. "It won't take me long to get ready, I just need a shave and..."

"Have you ever left the house without having a shave?"

"Not in a long time, no."

"Then we'll call that half," she says. "Don't shave and just get dressed... besides, stubble's really sexy."

**_-xxx-_**

After paying a flying visit to Sybil's flat during which she'd changed into a blue skater dress with battered old docs and a leather jacket. For Tom, it's nice to see her in something other than lycra or tracksuit bottoms - not that he doesn't think she's beautiful in them, but to see her in her civvies is like another insight into her personality. Before long, they're emerging from the Westminster Underground station, thinking that this is as good a place as any to start their big city adventure. They don't even notice when their hands find each other's as they walk aimlessly down the street. Talk turns to Tom's family and the time he'd spent living with his brother in Liverpool.

"I took our niece to the Blue Planet Aquarium over in Ellesmere Port," he tells her. "She absolutely loved it."

"I've never been to an aquarium," she replies. "Zoos, yes, but never an aquarium."

Tom looks at her in surprise. "Really? Well, do you want to go?"

Sybil shrugs. "I don't know... maybe."

"Then that's where we'll go first," he says with an excitable smile. "Come on, it's just across the river."

Naturally, she tries to protest when she sees the admission fee and he insists on paying, saying that this is her treat and she can buy lunch somewhere he's never eaten before. Setting aside her stubbornness, she agrees and their light-hearted quarrel is highly amusing to the woman in the ticket office. Once inside, Tom lets go of Sybil's hand and is quite content to let her wander off, watching her as she stares into the tanks in amazement as though she's lost in another world. He's particularly enchanted when she gazes into the shark tank, her hand up against the glass and remaining perfectly still as the creature swims towards her. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he manages to capture the moment and smiles as he studies the photograph. This is exactly what she is to him; strong, wilful and fearless - she may have been thrown to the sharks as far as this role is concerned, but he knows that she has it in her to just float above the water.

"What?" she asks with a smile, turning to look at him and seeing the ridiculous grin plastered across his face.

Tom shakes his head. "Nothing, it's just that you look as though you're having a pretty good time without me."

Sybil ducks her head bashfully. "Sorry," she apologises. "I just think that this is brilliant."

"No need to apologise," he replies. "Though I still can't believe this is your first time in an aquarium."

"I know, though I don't think it will be my last... I love it and thank you so much for bringing me here."

Tom smiles as she links her arm through his. "Well, our day's not over yet," he says. "Where to next?"

Sybil ponders this thought for a moment. "I'm actually really hungry, but it's your turn so you'll have to tell me somewhere you've never been."

"Chinatown always smells pretty good," he says. "Everyone I seem to know prefers Indian and I'm sort of lazy just ordering a takeaway when the real thing is pretty much on my doorstep."

"I have a favourite restaurant," she replies excitable. "Mary and I always used to go there on a Friday once a month for a proper feast. People have this misconception about ballet dancers that we don't eat anything but, actually, it's quite the opposite. You need to take in more calories than normal because dancing burns so much energy."

"And there was me thinking that you were just a bottomless pit."

Sybil swats his arm playfully and laughs. "Food's always been such a big part of our family, mainly from Mama's side. We always celebrate Thanksgiving and it's bigger than Christmas dinner in our house, unless we go up to Downton though and then it's a much more elaborate affair. My grandfather's family were originally from the south so there's been a sort of Mexican and Creole influence. They were Jewish too and... sorry, I'm doing it again and talking too much, aren't I?"

"I don't mind," says Tom. "I like hearing about your life... though one thing I still don't understand is how you're not titled when your grandfather was an Earl."

"You wouldn't be the first person to have asked me that," she smiles. "My father is the youngest of three. There's his sister, Lady Rosamund, and then their older brother, James, who was Viscount Downton but now he's Lord Grantham and his son, Patrick, now has that title. He has a daughter, Lady Rose, but neither my sisters nor I are titled Lady because Papa doesn't have a title. Does that make sense?"

Tom nods. "I think so," he says. "Though, to be honest, I didn't know that the aristocracy still existed beyond the confines of the royal family... at least not to this extent anyway."

"It's not exactly like it used to be," she tells him. "They're much less predominant in society and there's none of the grandeur of the past that I sense when I'm looking at old photographs. The Abbey's owned by the National Trust now but my family still stay there for a few months during the summer and at Christmas when it's closed to the public. I'd really love for you to see it one day, it's so beautiful."

He smiles at the fact that she seems to be speaking as though they have some sort of future together, whether that be just as friends or as something more. Truth be told he hopes it's the latter but, just as long as she's a part of his life, he really doesn't care.

**_-xxx-_**

After a slap up meal that leaves them both feeling so full they could burst (not helped by the fact that his ineptitude with chopsticks and her efforts to try to teach him how to do it properly had had them both in hysterics), Tom pours half of his beer into Sybil's empty glass and they discuss their next move.

"I think we should just wander," she suggests. "And that way, if we see anything we feel like doing, we just can."

"Make it up as we go along, you mean?"

Sybil nods as she pulls out her purse and leaves a twenty pound note on the table, throwing in a couple of coins as a tip. "Sometimes the spontaneous days are the best. Not that I haven't had fun already, I really have..." she reaches out across the table then and rests her hand on top of his. "I'm so glad I met you, Tom."  
He turns his hand over then and threads his fingers through hers. "And I you," he replies. Neither of them will say it yet, but this is definitely a date.

**_-xxx-_**

Darkness is beginning to creep in when they finally decide to call it a day. They'd crammed so much into one afternoon that it was hard to remember everything they'd done. It had started with them paying a visit to Selfridges and Tom making his very first purchase from the food hall of a small bottle of Jameson after Sybil had said that she'd never tried Irish whisky, only the much less nicer scotch that she used to sneak from the decanter in her grandfather's study when she was a teenager, and she'd drunk it straight from the bottle as they played pooh sticks on a bridge over the Serpentine just as she and her sisters used to do as children. After that, they'd taken the Tube up to Camden where Sybil had come across a cheap plastic bracelet with brightly coloured beads in the shape of fish - it had only been about £2.50, but Tom had insisted she let him buy it for her, as well as a beautiful blue-grey scarf that matched the colour of her eyes. Finally, they'd stopped by a charming little record shop where they'd learnt about each other's eclectic (and sometimes strange) musical preferences before grabbing a coffee each from Starbucks and heading back to her flat. As they descend the escalator at the station, the sound of a busker singing 'Mr Bojangles' catches Sybil's attention and she starts swaying and humming along to the music. When they reach the bottom, she grabs hold of his hand and twirls herself under his arm before pulling them into a hold as though they were, in Tom's mind, about to take the floor on Strictly Come Dancing.

"What are you doing?" he asks, noticing that people are starting to stare at them.

"Haven't you ever danced to a song by a busker before?"

"Can't say I have, no," he replies as they start to move. She's leading him - unconventional, he knows, but then that's just how Sybil is - but that doesn't stop him going wrong and she trips over his foot, throwing her head back in laughter as he catches her.

"We should go," she says, tossing some loose change into the busker's empty guitar case. "We'll miss the train."

The train is absolutely packed and she finds herself pressed right up against him - he smells like leather, Abercrombie and Fitch cologne and a smell that's so distinctly 'Tom' that she can't even begin to put a name on it. He smiles down at her and wraps his free arm around her waist to stop her from falling over as the train comes to a halt.

"Come on," she says, wondering if she can blame the redness of her cheeks on the heat of the train. "This is our stop."

"So, what next?" he asks as they walk hand in hand down the street towards the smart block of flats she lives in.

Sybil shrugs. "I don't know," she replies. "It's your turn."

"I've never watched ballet... at least not all the way through," Tom says. "Anywhere we can watch one?"  
Sybil thinks for a moment before nodding. "The American Ballet Theatre's Swan Lake is on YouTube in full," she says. "It's one of my favourites and I think it's as good a place as any to start in your education."  
Tom chuckles. "You make it sound like there'll be more."  
Sybil grins back at him. "You have much to learn, my young padawan."

**_-xxx-_**

About two hours later, with the pair of them curled up on the sofa with Sybil sitting between Tom's legs and her back resting against his chest, the final bars of Tchaikovsky's haunting score echo around the tiny flat.

"See, I told you it was beautiful," Sybil sniffs, wiping away the tears that never fail to fall whenever she watches it. "I know I'm silly for crying, but it's just so special to me and..."

A gentle snore cuts her off and she glances over her shoulder to see Tom fast asleep - with his mouth slightly open and the way his hair falls across his eyes, he looks so young and peaceful that she can't bring it upon herself to wake him. Setting her laptop down on the floor, she rolls over slightly and presses a tender kiss to his lips. Tom's eyes flutter open then and her heart stops - even in the darkness, his sapphire irises sparkle and look at her curiously. Her hand comes up to caress his still stubbled cheek and she nuzzles his nose before leaning in to kiss him again. He responds fully this time, sitting up and pulling her so impossibly close. Hands begin to roam, both under and above their thin layers of clothing, and both of them moan and sigh in pleasure in satisfaction as they lose themselves in the sensation of finally giving in to the one thing that's been tempting them for far too long now. Pulling apart after what seems like an eternity, their foreheads resting together as they catch their breaths, Sybil whispers three words that they both know will change everything forever.

"Come to bed."


	6. Bedroom Hymns

**_I'm sorry for the delay, I've been so busy this week (coming towards the end of Uni at last so it's all system's go) - to make up for it, I've given you an extra long chapter. I do warn you though, it's INCREDIBLY smutty (especially the last bit, which might seem a bit OOC but that's sort of the point - Sybil has to try to awaken a side of her that isn't part of her character, she's much more of a white swan than a black). Again, my thoughts on Thomas are that a modern version of him would be a completely different man to that which we see in canon - I always thought that part of his bitterness comes from the fact that he has to hide who he is which, obviously, isn't something that a gay man in 21st Century Britain would have to do. Enough rambling - don't forget, you can follow my new Tumblr fic blog teaattheabbey (that's Tea at the Abbey) where I post all my stuff these days. Enjoy and let me know what you think - it's all about to start kicking off :) x_**

* * *

She doesn't notice when he steps into the shower behind her - not until he places his rough, work worn hands onto her slender hips and pulls her flush against him as he leans in to kiss her neck. She gasps at this sudden assault on her senses - she can hear the water, smell the orange blossom scent of her shower gel, feel his dominant yet tender touch and all she needs now is to see him - naked, wet and aroused - and to say "good morning" in the only way that seems appropriate right now. He won't let her move though, and his grip on her only tightens whenever she tries to wriggle free. She can feel his erection against her flushed skin and she's itching to feel him inside of her again - he's already shown (on several occasions now) that he knows exactly how to pleasure her and she craves it as thought it were some kind of potent drug.

Still biting and nipping at her collar bone, his hands slowly start to move up her body and towards her pert breasts, caressing them and toying with her erect nipples which makes her moan softly. His fingers pinch and pull with just enough force to be pleasurable but not painful and her own hand begins to wander down towards her centre and to her swollen clitoris which aches to be touched. He lets her go then and she turns to face him, giving him a dreamy smile and he's powerless to resist her kiss any longer. The spark between them turns to wildfire as their lips meet at last - they'd kissed mere minutes earlier when she'd left him alone in bed to go and have a shower, but so addicted are they to each other's kisses now that that feels like far too long ago. Pulling apart to catch their breaths, he takes her face in his hands and stares adoringly into her beautiful blue eyes.

Their romantic interlude is ended when she gives him a wicked smirk as she takes hold of his cock, teasing him slowly before dropping to her knees and nibbling at the flesh of his hipbone. He looks down and meets her gaze once more, neither of them breaking eye contact as she gently kisses and licks the underside of his shaft. Just when he thinks that he can't stand any more of her sweet torment, she takes him fully into her mouth. It takes everything he's got not to come there and then, wanting them to be together when he gives in to the pleasure she brings him. That, however, doesn't mean that he's going to deny her the same ecstasy and he's able to maintain enough self control to be able to gently tug her wet hair, encouraging her to stop before helping her to her feet. She looks a little disappointed that he's stopped her but, kissing her nose, he too sinks to his knees and fully intends to make up for it.

After a moment or two of awkward shuffling round, much to their mutual amusement, he's in a position to be able to ghost his lips over her mound and down to her thighs, teasing her just as she did him before finally darting out his tongue against her clit. Her mewls and moans of pleasure grow louder as he continues his ministration, using his fingers to part the swollen lips of her sex and allowing him more freedom to enjoy her most intimate place. Her hand slams against the tiles on the wall as she shatters with a cry of his name - with lightning fast reflexes, he manages to catch her before her knees give way from underneath her.

"Fuck me," she sighs, grabbing hold of him like her life depends on it.

Tom chuckles against her throat as he kisses his way up her neck. "Oh I intend to," he says lustfully, squeezing her backside which makes her yelp. "You know, I didn't realise that showers were this spacious, but there's nowhere near enough room for me to be able to do all the things I want to do to you."

She smiles seductively at him as she reaches under his arm to switch of the shower, a shudder running down her spine that has nothing to do with the sudden drop in temperature. "Well you'll just have to catch me first."

She's quick, but not quick enough and he manages to lift her up and over his shoulder before she's even made it to the bathroom door. She squeals and pounds her small fists against his back in mock protest, begging him to put her down - he's only happy to oblige once they make it back to her bed, the sheets still rumpled from last night's activities, and he tosses her down on it. He eyes her hungrily, pinning her arms above her head, kissing and licking his way up her neck before taking her earlobe between his teeth and gently tugging, heightening her arousal as he painstakingly slowly pushing his throbbing cock into her tight, wet heat. She's sure that the neighbours can hear them what with their moans getting louder and louder as their pace increases. His fingers lace with hers and he whispers sweet nothings in her ear as they come apart together.

Breathless, Tom collapses down on the bed and pulls her into a tight embrace. "I think we're dirtier now than we were before we got in the shower."

"Err, you mean when I got in the shower?" she laughs. "We wouldn't have that problem if you hadn't crept up behind me."

"Are you complaining?" he asks as she rolls over to face him.

Sybil shakes her head. "No," she replies with a bright smile.

He runs a hand across her hip, his fingertips lightly tracing the tattoo on the skin of her stomach. "You still haven't told me if this means anything, or is it just something that looks pretty?"

"It does look nice, but I did give it a lot of thought," she replies. "I'd always wanted a tattoo but I didn't want one just for the sake of getting one like so many of my friends did and came to regret it."

"You mean like inking a boyfriend's name onto your skin because you loved him?"

Sybil wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I'd never do anything like that, though two of my friends did and then, six months later, he came out as being gay and they split up," she says, making Tom laugh. "I like the symbolism of feathers. Flight, freedom, spirituality and all that stuff. Things that really sum me up, I think. Did you know that the Native Americans used to give them to their warriors as a symbol of their courage? I think that's one of the things I lack so I suppose it's a good luck charm in a way."

"And your half American."

"And I'm half American," she agrees, not actually having thought about that before.

"Two feathers though, one white and one black. The black swan and the white?"

"Now you're getting it," she smiles. "Odette and Odile are two diametrically opposed characters and at opposite ends of the spectrum of human nature. I thought that maybe by tying the two feathers together would show a balance, though the white one's slightly bigger because I think that pure and innocent side of me is more prominent."

"What we spent last night doing wasn't very innocent," he quips with a devilish smirk which earns him a playful swat on the arm in response."

"What I mean is that people always say that I'm... nice," she replies. "That I have a good heart and all that sort of stuff."

"Well it's true," Tom replies. "You've got the kindest heart of anyone I know... though, with all this detail, I think you should be the writer and not me. You'll put me out of a job."

Sybil snuggles closer into his chest and sighs happily, their naked bodies still wet but it's impossible to feel the cold when they're entwined like this. "I'm going to go and have another shower," she says. "Why don't you have a look what I've got in and see what we can eat... I've worked up quite an appetite."

"Are you sure you don't need me to come and do your back?"

"Absolutely positive," she laughs. "Maybe next time."

-xxx-

Disappointed by finding nothing more than enough pasta to feed an army, one slice of bacon, and some vegetables that probably should have been thrown away several days ago, Tom throws a playful strop and rants about how he "can't possibly work under these conditions" (and Sybil had admitted that she hadn't had chance to buy food this week, having stayed late in the studio almost every evening, and promises to do an online shop to be delivered first thing in the morning before rehearsals). In the end, they decide to go and have Sunday lunch at the pub round the corner where they spend another delightful afternoon together. They manage to steal some seats in the corner by the window where they can cuddle up together, he stealing the peas from her plate (and making a mess in the process) when she confesses she's always hated the things. They leave later than planned, a little tipsy and filled with the joys of young love, and reluctantly agree that it's for the best that Tom goes back to his flat if either of them want to have even the slightest chance of getting some sleep tonight.

Lying in bed, Sybil sends a quick text to Mary apologising for not speaking to her all weekend and the pair arrange a Skype date on Wednesday afternoon when Sybil has a couple of hours break between rehearsals. She buries her head in the pillow which still smells faintly of Tom and, just as her eyes are beginning to drift shut, the man himself texts her.

IS IT CRAZY THAT IT'S ONLY BEEN TWO DAYS AND YET I MISS SLEEPING NEXT TO YOU?

Sybil laughs and props herself up on her elbow and types out her response.

WE HAVEN'T REALLY DONE MUCH SLEEPING THOUGH ;) - AND, YES, IT'S COMPLETELY CRAZY... BUT I FEEL THE SAME.

His own reply comes in a heartbeat.

GOOD, I'M GLAD. SEE YOU TOMORROW.

Across town, Tom flops down on his sofa and sighs like some sort of lovesick teenager as he reads Sybil's last text.

SEE YOU TOMORROW. SWEET DREAMS, TOM :)

He runs a hand through his hair and flicks through his phone, looking for the photograph of her he took at the aquarium yesterday and sets it as his wallpaper - he knows that it's probably a premature move, but he's fallen hard for this girl and, if this weekend has been anything to go by, it's the start of something beautiful.

-xxx-

"No, no, no," and exasperated Andrei sighs as they run through the Black Swan pas de deux - they've been at this all afternoon and not once has the choreographer (who is fast approaching the end of his tether) let them get to the end of it.

Jimmy groans as he stretches his leg to get rid of the slight cramp in his calf. "Oh what now?" he asks, glancing over at Sybil who rolls her eyes.

"Her," Andrei says, pointing at his leading lady. "Where the hell is your head at, Sybil?"

Sybil frowns. "What?"

"I'm not feeling it," he says. "You're too... tense. I need sexy and seductive, not... whatever this is. I want wet knickers and cocks aching to be sucked. I want them to want to fuck you and, right now, I don't want to do that. Do you want to fuck her, Jimmy?"

"Ummm, no... but I'm gay so..."

Andrei curses in Russian and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, Sybil, you're a beautiful girl," he says. "You've got what it takes to do this but you just need to be able to unlock that dark side within... go out, find a man and give in to your darkest desires. Tie him up, spank him, make him bleed... whatever, I don't care. Just do something to make him scream."  
Sybil shifts uncomfortably - she knows that Andrei is crass and sees no subject as being taboo, but she's not sure she has it in her to do all those things. Besides, there's only one man she wants to share her bed with right now and she's not even sure he'd be willing to engage in such activities. Before she can rely, Andrei waves his hand and dismisses them, realising that they're both late for a rehearsal of act two.

"Don't listen to him," Jimmy says as they leave the principals' studio. "I think you're doing just fine."

Sybil sighs. "Fine's not good enough though, is it?" she replies sadly. "I mean, you heard what he said."

"And I said that the only reason I don't find you desirable in the way he wants me to is because I'm gay... oh, don't look at me like that," he smirks. "It's not like you couldn't possibly have known."

Sybil laughs, suddenly feeling ever so slightly better. "I had my suspicions, but I wasn't sure," she admits. "You never said anything that made me certain."

Jimmy shrugs. "I never said anything because I don't think it's that big a deal."

"Oh, no, of course it isn't," she smiles. "It takes all kinds to make a world and it's just who you are... if people can't accept that then it's their problem."  
"Exactly," Jimmy smiles. "You know, it really is true what they say about you, you're actually really lovely."

She blushes at the compliment, just as she always does whenever somebody says something nice about her. She's about to thank him when she hears none other than Elsie Hughes calling her name from the doorway of her office. Asking Jimmy to pass on her apologies for being late, she approaches the ballet mistress.

"Everything coming along alright?" she asks.

Sybil nods. "Fine," she says, tapping the strap of her bag with her finger and hoping that the older woman can't see past the facade and to the nerves and anxiety that's beginning to creep in underneath. "I think I'm getting there."

"I'm glad to hear it," replies Elsie. "Though I just thought I'd let you know that I've asked Eddie to be your alternate. I'm sure you know that there always is one, just in case anything happens... not that it will, you'll be fine. But I was just wondering if you'd be able to run through the choreography with her when you're free on Wednesday?"

Sybil feels guilty about the fact that she's going to have to rearrange with Mary **again **and, with her still unsure of how she feels about Eddie, she's not exactly thrilled with this change of plan. Saying that though, it's not as if she can refuse. "Sure," she says. "That's fine."

"Thank you," Elsie smiles. "I'll tell her to meet you in the principals' studio at three. Now, I've kept you far too long and the show can't go on without you."

She feels infinitely better when she enters the studio at last and sees Tom for the first time all day - he'd been working with the corps and some of the soloists and they hadn't really had the chance to speak. She aches to feel his embrace and his kiss upon her lips, but it pains her to know that she won't be able to for another couple of hours - illicit thoughts of what they'd spent the weekend doing have affected her performance enough today already and it takes every single ounce of her concentration to get back onto top form which is damn near impossible when he's right within her reach.

Sybil purposefully takes her time gathering her belongings at the end of the rehearsal until she's the only one left behind. She feels so much of her tension melt away the second an all too familiar pair of arms circle her waist from behind and hold her tightly. "I missed seeing you today."

She turns to face him and wraps her own arms around his neck, humming contentedly as she smiles back at him. "And I you," she says before planting a firm kiss on his lips. "And I've been wanting to do that since you left last night."

"How was your day?" Tom asks, moving one of his hands to rub soothing circles across her back.

Sybil shrugs. "Alright, I suppose," she says. "I've had better but that's just the way it is."

"We all have our off days," he replies. "I had a pretty shitty morning. I couldn't play properly because all I could think about was the many other things I've been doing with these fingers this weekend."

Sybil nibbles her lip. "Funny, because I was thinking about all the things you can do with those fingers today too."

He chuckles and kisses the tip of her nose. "So, do you want to come round to mine tonight and we can refresh our memories?"

She shakes her head. "Sorry, I can't," she apologises. "I promised Thomas and Gwen they could come round for a drink ages ago and we just haven't had time until now."

"That's fine," Tom replies. "But you'll have to let me take you out for dinner one night soon," he says. "We'll dress up and go somewhere really nice... my treat."

"Let me pay half and you've got yourself a deal."

He laughs again and playfully squeezes her backside. "Not a chance," he teases. "Have fun tonight, relax, and I'll text you before bed... did you do your shopping?"

"Yes," she reassures him, knowing that he was concerned she was going to starve (which was being completely melodramatic but she found it endearing nonetheless). "I have plenty of food and I have nibbly... shit... and wine for tonight."

"Nibbly shit doesn't sound all that appealing."

"Shut up," she replies. "I couldn't think of the word."

Tom kisses her then - soft and tender - and she can no longer remember what it was that was stressing her out so much. She's unsure what this is exactly, nor is she certain whether or not she actually wants to begin a full blown relationship what with how chaotic her life is right now, but the one thing she's certain of is that she can't recall ever feeling this way about a man before.

**_-xxx-_**

"You spent the entire weekend fucking Tom Branson and you didn't even tell us?!" a rather stunned Thomas exclaims as he pours out three very large glasses of wine. "Some friend you are."

Sybil rolls her eyes. "Not the entire weekend," she corrects. "I stayed over at his on Friday night after you all left but nothing happened, then we spent all day Saturday together and well... one thing led to another and..."

"You fucked him?" Gwen cuts in with a teasing smile.

"We had sex, yes," she replies. "Several times that night and then for most of Sunday morning," she admits, trying and failing to hide her blush behind her wine glass.

"Then I want details. Length, girth..."

Sybil splutters. "Oh my God, Thomas, I am not giving you the measurements of his cock... not that I know them anyway," she says. "But what I will say is that he knows what he's doing with it."

Gwen smiles at her friend's revelation. "So I suppose it makes a nice change for you then?" she asks, knowing all about Sybil's less than satisfying sexual history.

Sybil nods. "Oh and, by the way, Thomas," she says, trying to change the subject. "You were right about Jimmy. He is gay, he told me today."

"I know," he says. "He let me suck him off in the toilets at the fundraiser on Friday."

Gwen's jaw drops. "You are unbelievable!"

"And a hypocrite," Sybil adds. "I can't believe you didn't tell us. What was it you just said? Oh, that was it... some friend you are."

The three of them laugh - they adore just how open they can be around each other and how they can say the things they'd never dream of saying to anyone else.

"Working in the wardrobe department, I've always said that there were three sizes of dance belt," says Thomas. "Small, medium, and liar. You might not want to dish the dirt on your man's wedding tackle, but I'll say that I might have to rethink the last category where Jimmy's concerned."  
Once their laughter has subsided again, Sybil stares pensively into her wine and decides that, if she can't share what's bothering her with these two people, then there really is nobody she can share it with at all. "Can I ask you guys something? It's about something Andrei said to me today."

"Speaking of massive pricks," Thomas replies with a smirk. "I'm sorry... you were saying?"

She takes a deep breath and tightens her hold on her glass. "He wants me to... tap into my dark side."

"In what sense?" asks Gwen.

"In a sex sense," she tells her friend. "Because Odile's this mistress of seduction and I'm just... not. Sex with Tom is... great... alright, it's bloody fantastic, but I don't know if he'd be willing to... to help me out."

Thomas sighs. "Get me your laptop and my credit card," he says. "I'm buying you a present."

Sybil's unsure about going along with Thomas' plan at first but, after going through a couple more bottles of wine, she no longer continues to care and begins to tell herself that she is a strong, confident and sexy woman capable of making her man drop to his knees and beg for more. Gwen shares her past experiences of spicing things up in the bedroom and she's glad for Thomas' input on what feels particularly good for a guy. After spending well over an hour browsing the Ann Summers website, she's ended up with an introduction to bondage kit, a bullet vibrator, some strawberry flavoured lube, a very saucy lace lingerie set and a stress ball shaped like a penis (though that was more Thomas' present to himself, declaring that it would take pride of place on his desk at work).

"And my work here is done," he says. "It'll be delivered to me at work by one tomorrow afternoon, you just come upstairs and get it from me whenever you're free and then all you have to do is get lover boy to come over here tomorrow night... and when I say come, I mean it in more ways than one."

"Yeah, I figured," Sybil replies, somehow managing to slosh wine down her top. "I just have to be confident..."

Gwen nods. "And remember, don't be afraid to get a little rough," she says. "I know your experiences in that field weren't exactly pleasant last time, but this is different... you're in control this time."

"It wasn't that it was unpleasant," she says. "I don't mind getting a little rough once in a while, but Larry wanted it that way all the time and it just got... boring. What do I do if Tom doesn't want to though?"  
"In those knickers, I think he'd let you do anything to him," Thomas replies with a smirk. "But if he doesn't, he doesn't... just work with what you've got. Oh and, if you end up accidentally pregnant, you can repay me for all of this by naming your child after me if it's a boy."

**_-xxx- _**

She checks her reflection one last time in the mirror as she ties the front the short black silk dressing gown that Mary had bought her as part of a really expensive pyjama set for her birthday last year. She's never worn stockings and suspenders before but, despite the initial discomfort, she can't help but think that her long, toned legs look pretty damn good in them. She hears the key in the lock of the front door and she knows that he's here at last after what seems like an eternity of waiting - she'd text him earlier, telling him where the spare key was and instructing him to let himself in. "_It's now or never_," she thinks to herself, taking a shot of vodka from the bottle she found in the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

"Sybil?" she hears him call. "Syb, you there?"

She smiles at his endearing nickname for her - people had used it before and it had once made her cringe but perhaps it's his accent which somehow makes it bearable. Taking a deep breath, she draws back her shoulders and stands tall before moving over to the doorframe of her bedroom and leaning on it as seductively as she can.

"Hey you," she smiles, toying with the knot on the sash of her dressing gown.

Tom's jaw drops as he catches sight of her at last. She looks... well, she looks incredible. He rarely gets to see her with her hair down and he loves the way her wild ebony curls fall about her shoulders and down her back. Her makeup is dark and smoky, making her sapphire blue eyes sparkle even more and her full lips are glossed, making them look much more tempting than usual. "I erm... I found the key."

"So I see," she replies, trying her best to stop her nerves getting the better of her. "I was just about to get changed," she adds. "Come with me and we can talk."

He nods and follows obediently - she's up to something, that much is obvious, and he's desperate to find out. As soon as they're in the bedroom, she practically throws herself at him and claims his lips in a passionate kiss that's all tongues and teeth and sighs of satisfaction. It had been another day where they hadn't seen much of each other and they needed this kiss like water to a man wandering the desert.

They pull apart and his rests his forehead against hers. "Do you trust me?" she asks as she begins unbuttoning his shirt.

"Completely," he replies, nuzzling her nose as he works on his belt buckle. "Why?"

"Because I have something I want us to try," she replies. "But, if you want to stop, just tell me, okay?"

Tom nods and moves to kiss her again as she manoeuvres them both across the room, pushing him back down on the bed when the backs of his knees hit the foot of it. He shuffles up and helps her to pull off his trousers, leaving him in just his underwear as she moves to straddle his thighs, never breaking their kiss as she sets about gently binding his wrists to the metal frame above his head with the silk scarves she'd hidden under the pillow.

"Syb?"  
"Trust me," she whispers. "Please?"

Tom nods and surrenders himself to her will and to the feeling of being so utterly helpless and completely at her mercy. She kneels up then and slowly removes the robe, tossing it onto the floor and giving him a good look at her... attire. It's not very practical and it seems that the only purpose of the delicate lace bra and matching skirt (if one can really call it a skirt) is to offer a tantalising glimpse of what lies hidden beneath. Tossing back her hair, she reaches for the clasp of her bra, her eyes never once leaving his as she reveals her breasts to him. She bites on her bottom lip as she teases at her nipples and he lets out a groan of frustration at the thought of not being able to touch her too.

"Behave," she whispers, suddenly experiencing a rush of confidence as he battles against his restraints.

"Or what?" comes his reply, his accent thick with arousal.

"Or I'll just leave you here while I go and sleep on the sofa."

"No," he practically begs. "Don't do that."

"So will you behave then?"

He nods and it's clear for her to see just how much power she wields over him in this moment. "Jesus Christ, I'll do anything for you right now."

She leans in to kiss him, taking his face between her hands and letting her fingers caress his stubbled cheek. "What would you do if I were to untie you?"

"I'd rip those knickers off with my teeth," he replies in a heartbeat. "And then I'd fuck you so hard that the neighbours will be complaining about your screaming for a month."

She shakes her head then and sighs. "That's not good enough," she replies. "So you'll stay like that, though I am willing to compromise... what do you want **me **to do?"

This requires a little more thought on his part - his erection is straining against his tight white boxers and he aches for even just the slightest bit of relief from this sweet torture. However, at the same time he wants to see her...

"Touch yourself," he says. "Please."

Again, her hand slides under the pillow and she pulls out the lube and the little gold bullet before squirting a little bit of the former onto her fingertip. She sucks it off, slowly and deliberately, with a moan and then offers him a taste too. She caresses her body with both hands, moving further and further down until she's sliding her underwear down her legs, leaving her in just stockings and a suspender belt as she straddles his body again. Her left hand moves back up to her breasts where she squeezes the flesh and tugs at her nipples, the fingers of the other dipping between the folds of her sex as she fondles her clitoris, her actions becoming more and more vigorous as the pressure builds.

"I think of you," she says, closing her eyes and surrendering to the pleasure. "I think of you when I... ahhh... when I touch myself. Pretend it's you who's making me co... oh God... yes... yes... yes!"

He groans as she ruts against his erection, thinking that he's going to come before they've even got started. The sight before his eyes is almost too much to bear and she collapses against his chest as her orgasm overwhelms her. "It kills me that I can't touch you," he says.

"Soon," is her dreamy response as she finds the strength to sit up again. "But I think it's only fair that you should have some fun too... equal rights and all that," she says with a smirk, moving off of him once more and pulling at the waistband of his boxers, gasping as his hardened prick springs free at last. She takes the lubricant again and squeezes a generous amount into her hands, rubbing them together before placing the right one at the base of his cock, sliding it up and down with a firm yet gentle grip and smiling to herself as he starts writhing with pleasure under her touch.

"Jesus Christ," he groans, only to hiss as she suddenly squeezes his testicles.

"It's rude to call out someone else's name in bed."  
"Point taken, milady," he replies, poking fun at her noble heritage like he so often does. "What are you doing?" he asks, a little disappointed at the fact that she's ceased her ministrations.

She reaches behind her for the tiny vibrator that she'd previously abandoned and switches it on. "Patience is a virtue," she teases. She reaches forward and presses it against his nose, knowing that that's where they always get you to test sex toys. "I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

She shuffles down the bed, propping herself up on her elbow and pleasuring him in all the places that Thomas had told her about (save for one **very** intimate spot which she had already decided would have been taking a step too far given this very early stage of their relationship). The sensation is unfamiliar to him, but not entirely unpleasant. Having had enough of torturing him, she abandons the rest of her plan and decides to give them both what they're so desperately craving. She discards the bullet and takes his prick in her hand again, rolling on the condom that was also stashed under the pillow before straddling him, both of them moaning as she sinks down onto his length.

"Fuck," he moans, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

Her eyes flutter closed as she braces her hands against his chest as she begins to move, slowly at first but quickly falling into a much more fast paced rhythm. He bucks his hips and meets her thrust for thrust, somehow managing to loosen the knot on one of the scarves and allowing his hand to slip free at last. With the other soon following, he places both hands on her hips and grips them so hard that they both know he'll have left his mark. She shatters with an incoherent cry which sounds something vaguely like his name, the walls of her tight cunt gripping him deep inside of her, tipping him over the edge with her.

Once again, she collapses against his chest only, this time, he's able to wrap his arms around her and he kisses the top of her head, her nose and then finally her lips.

"You cheated," Sybil says once she's finally caught her breath. "Which means you disobeyed me and didn't behave."

Tom chuckles. "Then I'll gladly bear my punishment," he says. "Because it was so worth it."

"Was it okay?" she asks. "What we just did, I mean."

He manages to roll them both onto their sides so that they're facing one another and starts twisting locks of her hair around his finger. "Sybil, it was... amazing. I know you're probably worried that it was too soon for us to start getting a little... kinky... but it's nice to do something different every once in a while."

"Have you... have you ever done anything like this before?" she asks, trying to gauge whether or not this is in fact something that turns him on.

He nods. "Yes... well, sort of. I once went out with a girl who was a hopeful for the Irish equestrian team at the Beijing Olympics. I can't remember if she got selected but that doesn't really matter. The point is is that she had more than one use for her riding crop... it wasn't all that pleasant, in hindsight anyway."

"Damn," Sybil curses. "You've just scuppered my plan. I was going to bring mine back with me the next time I went up to Downton."

"You ride?"

"I thought I just showed you that I do," she says with a wicked smirk.

Tom laughs. "No, seriously though, it might not have been my first time doing something like this, but I don't want it to be the last I do it with you. Maybe we can turn the tables next time."

Sybil nibbles on her bottom lip and nods shyly. "I think I might like that," she admits, a jolt of desire shooting straight to her core at the thought of being tied up and dominated by him.

"So how did it feel, letting your inner dominatrix out to play?"

"Good, I guess," she replies, subconsciously reaching out to play with the hairs on his chest. "I know you appreciated it, but the underwear and stuff wasn't for you, at least not primarily, but for me. I felt confident and sexy..."  
"But you already are all of those things," says Tom. "All you have to do to seduce me is look at me and give me one of those beautiful smiles of yours. That's all it takes for me to be swept of my feet by you. You're one in a million, Sybil Crawley... you're amazing."

She blushes prettily. "I think that, now I know I have it in me, I have what it takes to be a brilliant black swan... I just need to believe in myself."

Tom prods at her stomach and grins. "That's what we've been telling you all along," he says. "But I'm glad to have been of service to you in helping you to have this epiphany. I also gladly volunteer to submit myself to your power should you ever need to conduct more... shall we call this research?"

"Research sounds good to me," she replies and leans in to kiss him. "And I'm a very big believer in conducting lots and lots of research in order to be absolutely perfect."

"You're already are perfect," he says. "Or at least you are to me."

She's about to reply when her phone starts ringing - she knows it's probably either Thomas or Gwen calling to check up on her and to see if it's an appropriate time to get some of the dirty details. "Sybil Crawley, dominatrix extraordinaire, currently has a very very bad boy in her bed and is unable to come to the phone right... Mama!" she's never been so mortified in her entire life and swats Tom as he starts laughing hysterically at her faux pas.

"Sybil, I'm on my way over... I've left your father."


	7. As the World Falls Down

**_I know that alrets haven't been working over the past few days so I'm not sure if any of you missed the fact that there was another chapter posted before this one (hell, you might not even notice this one) so, if you didn't, you might want to go back and read that first. For those of you who did see it, thank you so much for your continued support on this story. I was so worried about writing the last chapter because it might not have been to everyone's taste though I hope I did it tastefully enough not to scare you away. Anyway, there's no smut in this chapter but plenty of family drama and Tom earning perfect boyfriend points... because who doesn't love a bit of fluff on a rainy Sunday evening? Enjoy :) x_**

* * *

"Do you need me to go?" asks Tom as he changes the sheets on the bed and hide away all traces of their earlier activities.

Sybil shakes her head, hiding away her toys in an old and battered suitcase that she keeps under the bed. "No," she replies. "I need you to stay, at least for a little while anyway."

He can't help but watch as she changes and, under any other circumstances, he'd be enamoured by the fact that she feels confident enough around him to walk around naked. She unclasps her stockings and slides off the suspender belt, tucking them away at the back of her underwear drawer and replacing her lacy lingerie with a pair of comfortable navy blue and white striped boy shorts and a black sports bra, teaming them with knee length lycra pants and an oversized vest which hangs loosely off her shoulder. Slipping her aching and blistered feet into her beloved slipper booties, she ties her hair op into a messy bun and steps towards Tom, running her hands across his still bare back and placing a kiss on his shoulder.

"This is going to fuck absolutely everything up," she whispers, cuddling him from behind. He turns in her arms to face her then, reaching over to remove one of the makeup wipes from the packet on her dressing table. He cups her cheek in one hand and then, with the other, tenderly cleanses the smoky kohl and shadow from her eyes. She leans in to his touch, adoring the fact that someone so big and strong can be so soft and gentle at the same time. "I always have to be the strong one in this family. I'm not sure I can do it this time... because who'll be there to catch me when I fall?"

"I will," he tells her, looking deep into her now clean (albeit slightly smudged) eyes. "I promise you. I know all about fucked up families." Sybil looks up at him quizzically and he shakes his head. "Another time," he adds. "This is about you and I promise that, if ever you need to talk about it, I'll be there whenever you want me to be."

She pulls him in for a somewhat fierce kiss then, the gesture saying far more than words could in this moment. "Thank you," she whispers, resting her forehead against his as they pull apart. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"There's no need," he replies, tucking a loose curl back behind her ear. "That's what friends are for."

She has to admit that, despite her own confusing feelings regarding this relationship, his use of the word "friends" makes her heart sink.

**_-xxx-_**

When Cora arrives around ten minutes later, Tom busies himself in the kitchen making tea for the two women who sit in relative silence at opposite ends of Sybil's sofa.

"Thank you, Tom," Cora smiles as he hands her a mug. "So how long have you and Sybil been together?"

He looks at Sybil then, his eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights and not entirely sure how to respond. Thankfully, she's much quicker off the mark than he is. "Oh, err... Tom and I have known each other for a couple of months now but we haven't been seeing each other very long."

Her mother nods and Tom thinks that they've got away with it. "And what is it that you do? I think I recall seeing you on Friday night but we didn't have the chance to speak."

"No, we didn't, did we? I'm sorry about that. Sybil's told me so many wonderful things and I'd been looking forward to meeting you at last," he says, turning on the charm offensive. "As for what I do, well it's a bit of everything, really. Right now, I'm an accompanist at the Royal and that's how Sybil and I met. My ambition is to become a journalist though, I've been working freelance since I graduated from university but I have an interview at the Guardian next week which will hopefully lead to something a little more permanent."

"You never told me that," Sybil says with a look on her face that Tom can't quite read.

"I was going to tonight," he replies. "But, obviously, other things came up. Speaking of which, I think I should be going. No doubt you two have a lot to talk about."

Cora gives him a weak smile and nods. "It was nice to meet you."

"And you," he replies, slipping on his jacket and heading down the hallway to the front door. Sybil excuses herself from her mother's company, following Tom to see him out.

"Liar," she whispers, coming right up behind him.

"What?" he asks with a quizzical brow as he opens the door.

Sybil smirks. "Telling my mother about how we met."

He chuckles and leans in close so that she can hear him as he keeps his voice low. "Well what did you want me to tell her? That we got drunk and shagged on my living room floor? Great thing to say the first time I meet one of your parents."

Sybil giggles. "You're an idiot," she says, and nuzzles her nose against his. "And did you really mean what you said about calling you if I need to talk?"

"Absolutely," he replies, taking her hand in his and running his thumb across her knuckles.

"Good, because I might just hold you to that." She gladly accepts his kiss then, the emotions it stirs within her giving her the strength and the courage to face whatever drama is about to unfold. With a sigh, she pushes herself off the door and heads back towards the kitchen.

"Are you being safe?" is Cora's first question, which would probably be the reaction of most mothers if they were to inadvertently discover that their youngest daughter had been playing kinky sex games with a boyfriend they didn't even know she had.

Sybil cringes - she doesn't mind talking about sex with certain people but her mother is not one of them. "Of course," she replies, suddenly having a rather cringeworthy flashback to the first time she'd been given 'the talk'. "Condoms and the pill... no need to start picking out colours for the nursery."

Cora laughs then. "I had hoped that I might have been for Mary by now, she and Matthew seemed so happy together."

"They were," Sybil replies. "But I think Russia is pushing it a bit in terms of the whole long distance relationship thing. Look, Mama, I don't mean to be rude but you didn't phone me to say that you were on your way over having left Papa to come here and give me a lecture on safe sex. What happened?"

Her mother sighs and closes her eyes wringing her hands together and looking more uncertain and less confident than Sybil had ever seen her before. "There was... another woman. She's sold her story to the press and it's going to come out in the next few days," she says. "He claims that it was only a kiss, but she's saying that it was more."

Sybil sits down on the sofa slowly, trying to comprehend what her mother is telling her. "But why on earth would she do something like that?" she asks in disbelief. "More to the point, why would **he** do that? Especially after you forgave him last time."

"You know about that?"

"Mama, I was thirteen, I was much more aware of what was going on than you realised. Edith told me... she thought I deserved to know that my father had been shagging his secretary on the side."

"Sybil," her mother warns.

"What? It's the truth," she retorts. "Who is it this time?"

"I don't know her name," replies Cora. "Only that she's a barrister chasing silk apparently."

Sybil groans. "Then she should know better," she snaps. "She should be more professional than that and to get involved with a married man and then sell her sordid tale of how she was seduced by a High Court judge to try and sex up the criminal justice system... it's despicable. I'm not blaming her; they're both at fault and both as bad as each other. Will you go back to him?"

"I don't know... I really don't know. I don't worry about what she's said to the press about me, but if she's brought you into it then that's unforgivable. "Cora reaches out and caresses her youngest daughter's cheek."My girls, my beautiful girls... you don't deserve to be dragged into this mess."

"Neither do you, Mama," Sybil replies tearfully. It's true what they say - she really does have a big heart and it kills her to see those she loves hurting.

**_-xxx-_**

Having given up her bed, Sybil lies on the sofa and stares up at the ceiling as she finally decides to call Tom.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asks when he answers and sound rather groggy.

"_No_," he replies. "_I've purposefully stayed up this late just in case you phoned_."

Sybil smiles - he really does care about her. "I'm sure you won't thank me for that in the morning."

Tom chuckles. "_It's fine, really_," he reassures her. "_So how bad is it?_"

"Much worse than I thought... and the best part is that it's going to be splashed across the tabloids so that the entire country can have a good gossip about my family's business."

Tom groans. "_I'm sorry to hear that... I wish there was something I could do to help_."

"Just be there to hold my hand and that's enough."

"_I promise. I'll be there in the morning with tea and sympathy... it's what you British do, right?"_

Sybil can't help but giggle. "It's exactly what we do," she replies. "Thank you."

"_Any time, and I mean that literally. Now, go on, get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow._"

"See you tomorrow, goodnight."

"_Sweet dreams, Sybil._"

She holds the phone close to her chest and sighs, ever so slightly terrified by how much she seems to need this man.

**_-xxx-_**

She's worried.

Very worried.

Not because of the fact that the story of her father's alleged infidelity is the subject of gossip up and down the country (though, thankfully, the "prominent member of the judiciary" had not been named by the papers) and there was apparently even a debate on This Morning as to whether or not it was ever acceptable to sleep with your boss in order to secure a promotion. No, that wasn't what was worrying Sybil right at this very moment in time...

Her problem was Eddie.

She leans against the barre, watching as the older woman dances effortlessly across the floor. For Sybil, each step is precisely calculated - it's a science whereas Eddie seems to treat it more like an art in that it's much less exact and she just goes with whatever feels right.

"So, am I getting there?" she asks breathlessly as she finishes the White Swan variation.

Sybil nods. "You're good," she says honestly. "Really good."

"Well, let's hope that I won't have to do it for real," she replies with a smile, readjusting the kirby grips keeping her bun in place. "Because you're going to be amazing, I just know it. Look, I spoke to Tom and he says you've been working so hard lately. We've decided that a night out on Friday that doesn't involve black ties and tiaras is exactly what we need. You should come."

"You've been speaking to Tom?" she asks, a little more defensively than she would have liked.

Thankfully, Eddie seems to find it funny and laughs. "Oh don't worry, I'm not trying to steal your boyfriend or anything," she says.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Really? Could have fooled me," she replies. "So, you in? I think Thomas and Jimmy will be there, maybe Gwen and a couple of others too though I can't say for certain yet. Oh, please say you'll come... I still feel like you and I haven't really had the chance to get to know each other properly yet."

Sybil forces a smile and nods. "Fine," she says, even though she knows she'll probably end up trying to worm her way out of it. "I'll come."

"Great," she says, far too cheerfully for Sybil's liking as she gathers up her things ready to go off to her next rehearsal. "I'll let you know the plan as soon as it's been decided... see you later."

Sybil waves as Eddie leaves before kicking an empty water bottle across the room in frustration - she's never felt threatened before and she knows that all this stress might just be making her a little bit paranoid, but there's most something about Edna Braithwaite that she doesn't trust.

**_-xxx-_**

Not really keen to head home any time soon, Sybil stays in the studio long after everyone else has left for the evening. Part of her wishes that Tom was there to keep her company and to play for her while she danced but, at the same time, she knew that she would have been somewhat distracted by his presence if he were.

"You should get someone to look at your shoulders," a familiar voice calls out from the darkness. "You're far too stiff."

Sybil stops dead in the centre of the room, her brow furrowed as she tries to decide whether or not she's imagining things. "Mary?"

Sure enough, her sister steps into the light and beams back at her. "Hello, stranger."

Sybil squeals and runs towards Mary, pulling her into a fierce hug. "I'm not even going to ask what you're doing here because I really don't care," she says. It's been a rough couple of days and her sister's surprise visit makes her want to cry. "I can't believe you're here... you... you're limping. Are you alright?"

Mary nods as the pair of them move to sit down with their backs resting against the mirrors. "Shin splints," she replies. "I'm under strict instructions to rest so I thought I'd come home for a few weeks. I have appointments booked with that fancy Harley Street physio that Mama always used to send us to so, hopefully, I'll be back to dancing soon."

"Don't rush it though," says Sybil. "You don't want to make it worse."

"I'll be fine," Mary replies with a smile. "Though, speaking of Mama..."

"I take it you know?"

Mary nods. "I don't know what to believe," she replies. "Though she's not staying at yours anymore. Once Granny heard that I was coming home, she insisted that I use her house while she's in Monaco. I've told Mama to come too, though a part of me really hopes they can sort this out."

"Me too," replies Sybil. "Have you managed to speak to Edith yet?"

"Only a couple of texts," Mary tells her. "Wherever it is in Dorset that she is doesn't seem to get much signal."

"I think the three of us need to get together and hold crisis talks," says Sybil. "See if we can't somehow save our family from ruin."

Mary raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her little sister. "Like something out of the Parent Trap?"

Sybil shrugs. "Maybe... I don't know what's going to happen. They seemed so happy when I saw them at the fundraiser last Friday."

Mary twists the soft pink ribbon of one of Sybil's spare pair of pointe shoes and stares at the floor. "The fairytale's just a facade," she says. "And the walls of the castle are always crumbling beneath."

"Very poetic... was it like that between you and Matthew?"

Her sister nods. "Towards the end at least."

"I saw him on Friday too, though he looked... different. It took me a moment to recognise him. He has brown hair now... it's weird."

Mary smirks and stretches out her legs in front of her. "He was dark haired when I first met him," she says. "Blonde isn't his natural colour but, when we were in first year, the other boys on the rugby team dyed patches of it as part of his initiation. It took me weeks to get the smell of hair dye out of my bathroom after I helped him do the whole thing to try and fix it."

Sybil giggles. "I didn't know that."

"Well now you do," Mary replies. "I know so many things about Matthew Crawley that most people don't."

"Are you going to see him while you're home?"

Mary shakes her head. "No, that's all in the past now, Little Swan," she says. "Now, come on, show me what you've got."

Sybil smiles and gets to her feet, feeling like that same child who used to come home from dance lessons eager to show her big sister just how hard she'd been working.

**_-xxx-_**

"Yes," she moans. "Yes, oh Tom... right there..."

"Harder?"

"Yes," she sighs and buries her face into the pillow - he really is rather remarkable with his hands, and this is proving to be just another hidden talent of his as he works out the tight knots in her back and shoulders. He'd text her and asked her to stay the night at his, saying that he had a surprise for her that was going to make her feel infinitely better. As soon as she'd stepped through the door, he'd whisked her down the hall and into the bathroom where he was in the middle of running a steaming hot bath. He'd made her laugh when he'd told her about the strange looks he'd got when he'd spent a good hour in Superdrug trying to decide which bubble bath to buy and he'd left towels to warm up on the radiator along with one of his shirts and a pair of boxers for her to change into. After quickly nipping into the kitchen to check on the chicken he had roasting in the oven, he had returned and seated himself on the floor beside the bath where they spoke of everything and anything and she'd reached up with her damp hand to play with his hair, finding the action somewhat comforting. He hadn't intended to end up massaging her shoulders, but the sight of her lying on her stomach on his bed as she'd dried off had been too much of a temptation to resist.

"Fell better?" he asks, just as she's about to fall asleep now that she's so relaxed.

Sybil hums contentedly and nods her head as she rolls over to look at him, not even bothering to pull up the towel again to cover her breasts. "Much, thank you."

"How are your feet?"

"Sore."

"I thought as much," he replies, retrieving a little green bag from the top of the chest of drawers before returning to the bed and lifting one of her feet to rest upon his knee. It's only then that she realises that it's a first aid kit and winces at the sting when he takes an antiseptic wipe and gently cleans the wounds on her feet where her shoes have cut into her. There's one in particular that looks particularly nasty to which he applies a small amount of Sudocrem and a dressing to stop it becoming infected. Before repeating the same action on the other foot, he bends down and places a kiss to the plaster which Sybil swears makes her heat skip a beat - she's suddenly presented with an image of just how much of a wonderful father he'll make one day, patching up his children when they come running to him with tear stained faces and bloody knees.

"You really do suffer for your art, don't you?" he asks as he inspects her feet.

Sybil smiles. "It is painful, but you get used to it eventually," she replies. "The things we love often hurt us, but that's the very reason why we stick with them... because of that love."

"_I love you_," he thinks to himself. "_But I'd never, ever hurt you_." He refrains from saying so aloud for fear that he might scare her off - the fact that he does love her so much, having only known her for what seems like five minutes, absolutely terrifies him and he imagines that it would do the same to her. "I used to think that ballet dancers were so fragile, but now I know that you're actually the complete opposite."

"Yet another of the many misconceptions," she replies with a smile. "On a completely unrelated note, what are you cooking because it smells amazing?"

"Well, eventually it'll be sweet and sour chicken. Though the big question is, do you want rice or noodles?"

"Rice, I think," she replies. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer noodles."

Tom shakes his head. "I was hoping you'd say rice," he replies with a smile, his talented fingers now rubbing circles across the balls of her feet almost of their own accord. "And, for afterwards, I have apple pie... though I didn't make that myself because, as I said, I'm useless at baking so you'll have to make do with Marks and Spencer's own."

"Marks and Spencer's? Oh you are spoiling me," she giggles. "Any particular reason why?"

"No, only that I think you deserve a bit of pampering," he replies. "You're working your arse off on Swan Lake and I know that this drama with your family is the last thing you need right now... I thought this might help you to switch off a little."

Discarding her towel completely, she crawls across the bed and takes his face in her hands and places a soft kiss on his lips. "You're absolutely wonderful, do you know that?"

Tom shrugs. "I try," he quips, laughing when she playfully swats his arm - something that he's noticed she has a habit of doing. "Now, come on, get dressed or you'll catch your death."  
She salutes him as he heads back to the kitchen. "Yes sir!"

**_-xxx-_**

Cuddled up on the sofa and each carrying rather sizable food babies, they somehow find themselves reliving their childhoods by discussing their favourite animated films as they watch Lady and the Tramp on Sky Disney. It had been no surprise to Tom that Belle was Sybil's favourite princess but made him laugh when she said that she'd once vowed she would only ever marry a man if he presented her with a library as impressive as the one the Beast had given to her. "It's going to be alright you know," Tom says almost out of nowhere as they lie in silence watching the television. "All this with your parents."

"How do you know?"

"Because, as I said the other day, I know a thing or two about fucked up families."

"Are your parents divorced?"

Tom shakes his head. "No... no, my father died when I was sixteen."

"Oh, I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," he cuts in. "He was a total bastard from what I remember. He was in and out of prison much of the time and I rarely saw him. Mam said that everything was fine at first but, not long after I was born, everything went to shit. She was from quite a well off family of farmers up in Galway and met Da when she was at Uni in Belfast. She fell madly in love with him and dropped out so that she could go with him when he went back to Dublin; they hated the idea but were pleasantly surprised when they seemed to make it work. It was only when our family's finances began to suffer, and they really did, that he started to become a shadow of the man she fell in love with. He liked to drink, in the end, and he was violent and abusive and I once saw him beat my brother because he told my parents that was gay. When I was nine, Mam finally found the strength to kick him out... not long after that, she found out she was pregnant with my baby sister. So, yeah, I do know about fucked up families, and I know that you're strong enough to cope with what's going on but if you ever feel like that, even for a moment, it's all getting too much, you come to me okay? You come to me and I'll be your shoulder to cry on, the one to make you laugh and make you tea..."

"Because tea solves everything," she smiles, silent tears running down her cheeks as Tom's story strikes a chord deep down inside of her.

"Aye, it does, even that horrible Earl Grey you insist on drinking," he chuckles. "I understand how important it is to have someone who you know is always going to be there should you need them when you're family's falling apart. Just let me be that person for you."

"Who was your person?"

"My uncle Ted," he replies. "He was my father's brother but they couldn't have been more different. He was a musician and the person who taught me to play the piano."

"Remind me to thank him," Sybil whispers. "Because, if it wasn't for him, I doubt I'd know you as much as I do now."

Tom smiles. "I think you'd like him and I know that he'd adore you."

"Take me to Ireland, Tom," she begs. "When the season's over, I want to go there with you."

"Do you think we'll last that long? Us, I mean?"

Sybil looks up at him then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears and a look of absolute sincerity in them. "Yes," she says. "I think we will."

He kisses her then, slow and tender, before pulling her into his arms and stroking her still damp hair. He tells her stories of the happier years of his childhood, of he and his brothers racing their horses across the fields on their grandfather's farm, of the hidden gems of Dublin and how his mother makes the best colcannon she'll ever taste. Of all the things that get said that night, there are three words that aren't - three words that will change everything but, despite how sudden it might seem, both are itching to say...

"I love you."


	8. The Show Must Go On

**_Wow, this is the longest chapter I've ever written for any of my fics. I'm sorry about that, but I didn't want to split it because I want the next chapter to be the last (save for the epilogue) - I'm starting my exams soon and I really want to get this finished before then so I can move on to my next story once they're over. I intended to post this earlier in the week but I've had a crappy few days (failed my exams and thought I had meningitis... it's all fun and games here) so I also apologise for the delay but I'm making up for it with a wee bit of smut (our girl's feeling very naughty again). I did post another chapter last weekend but noticications were down so you might not have seen it - go back and read that one first before this one. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

The following evening, Sybil arranges to go running with Edith. Her sister had phoned her earlier in the day asking her if she'd be able to go and it had been a question that had taken the youngest of the Crawley's completely by surprise. Unlike she and Mary, Edith had always hated almost all forms of physical exercise save for swimming and the odd bit of Yoga but she'd had to laugh when the reason given was "Because I'm going on holiday and I want to look more like Ursula Andres than Ursula the Sea Witch in my bikini."

Unsure of her sister's fitness and stamina, Sybil sets a steady pace but she's more than impressed by Edith's ability as they run along the Thames. "We're about a quarter of the way across the Channel at its narrowest point," she says, having always found that having some sort of indication of how far she's run to be rather motivating.

Edith stops and doubles over, wrapping her arms around her stomach as a stitch becomes unbearable. "I'll get the ferry instead," she says breathlessly.

Sybil grins and shakes her head. "Lightweight," she replies. "Just be thankful you're not out with Mary, she'd keep going until you were quite literally crawling home on your hands and knees."

"Yes, well, there's a reason I asked you," Edith smirks. "How is Mary? I haven't really spoken to her properly since she got back."

"Fine, though I've had shin splints before so I know that she's probably in agony," Sybil answers. "And we both know she'll have a hard time of resting, she's never really been one to sit still for very long."

Edith nods. "You're both so alike in that way," she says, moving over to the railings and staring out over the river. "You always wanted to be like her when we were little."

"I wanted to be like you too, you know," Sybil replies, surprising her sister with this revelation. "I always wanted to be as clever as you. I know I did alright in school, but dance was all I cared about. I could have done much better if I'd just listened to you." It was true that, while Sybil had come out of school with almost straight As in her GCSEs, she hadn't always been on course to achieve so highly. She was an intelligent girl and always in the top sets for every subject but she'd known from a very young age that she wanted to dance for a living and chasing her dream had almost cost her academically when her grades had plummeted to Cs and Ds. When her father had threatened to stop paying for her dance lessons if things didn't improve, she'd knuckled down and done both her parents and herself proud in the end, excelling in art, history, and French and ultimately earning herself a place at the prestigious Royal Ballet Upper School.

"You are clever," Edith replies. "You just choose to show it in different ways. Sometimes I look at you and Mary and wish that I'd found a love of something creative too."

"You're a really good photographer though," says Sybil. "I have so many of your pictures all over the walls in my flat. Maybe you could take that up again while you're on holiday. Where are you going anyway?"

"One of my friends from University is getting married in the South of France and a few of us girls have decided to go together for something of a reunion," she replies. "Though you'll never guess who the groom's cousin is."

"Who?"

"Anthony."

"Would showing him what he's missing be the real reason you're after the perfect bikini body by any chance? Not that you don't already..."  
"Oh please," Edith cuts in with a roll of her eyes. "I'm positively gargantuan compared to you and Mary."

"Shush, we're dancers though, remember? You're gorgeous and I wish I had boobs like yours... Tom's always teasing me that he's seen more meat on a butcher's pencil and..."

"Who is Tom?"

Sybil blushes and chips off a bit of her nail varnish - something she always does when she's hiding something. "He's... he's just a guy I know. So will you be seeing Anthony in France or what?"

This time, it's Edith's turn to go all bashful. "Actually, he's asked me out to dinner tomorrow night."

"Oh, Edith," Sybil sighs. "Is it really wise? He broke your heart, remember?"

"I know, but a part of me feels bad for being so cold towards him since it happened. I think I want to know his side of the story and... and I still love him."

Sybil smiles weakly back at her. "I wish you all the happiness in the world, you do know that? But... I don't think that happiness lies with him."

"You know, I thought you of all people would have been on my side," Edith huffs. "You're supposed to be the romantic one in the family."

"I was once," Sybil replies sadly. "But then I saw that happily ever after doesn't exist and everyone I know has ended up alone."

"Mama and Papa?"  
Sybil nods. "Among several others."

"What do you think will happen?"  
"I really couldn't say," Sybil replies with a shake of her head. "Though I really think we should prepare for the worst this time."

Edith's eyes widen. "Goodness, you have changed... now, come on, tell me all about this Tom."

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil cocks her head as she studies her reflection in the mirror. Mary had convinced her to try straightening her hair for a change - it's not that she doesn't like it, but its' just... different. She's decided on a pair of impossibly tight black jeans and a sheer sparkly top that's been in her wardrobe for months but never worn and, in another rare move, she's chosen her black platform ankle boots which add several inches to her height. Behind her, she catches sight of Mary eying up her footwear with a mournful look on her face before glancing down to study her own flat brown riding boots which she's decided to wear with blue jeans and a delicate cream coloured blouse.

"It doesn't feel right going out and not wearing heels," she says. Mary is a shoe connoisseur whose mantra is "go high or go home" though, with her injuries, her physio had forbidden her to wear them while she was still healing. "I'm jealous."

Sybil laughs as she applies a third coating of mascara - having decided that it rather suited her, she's done her eyes similar to how they were when she'd seduced Tom earlier in the week. "It's not for long," she says. "And then you can buy a new pair to celebrate."

Mary smiles. "I like your thinking... are you sure you don't mind me coming with you?"

"Course not," Sybil replies, shaking her head. "The more the merrier and, besides, I need help dealing with Eddie. She's a bit... much."

Her sister smirks. "Is this the one who's your alternate?"

Sybil nods. "She's a good dancer... really good, actually, and nice enough but we're just the complete opposite of one another, if that makes sense?"

"Of course it does," Mary replies. "Just don't feel threatened by her though. I know that this is your first leading role, and God knows I felt as though my alternate was going to push me out, but you're going to be amazing and **nobody** is going to steal this moment from you."

Sybil smiles, thankful for her sister's reassurance. "Thank you, your pep-talks always seem to work wonders," she says. "Now, come on, the world might be going to shit but the show must go on... let's just go out, have a good time, and just forget all of that for tonight."

Mary nods in agreement as she chinks her wine glass against Sybil's. "I'll drink to that."

**_-xxx-_**

They've chosen a cosy little cocktail bar in the West End to meet and, when Mary and Sybil finally arrive, everyone else is already there.

"You came!" an excitable Eddie grins as she kisses Sybil on both cheeks - she looks gorgeous in a little black dress with a plunging neckline and cut short enough to show off her long legs. "And you brought your sister. Mary, isn't it? I don't believe we've ever officially met but Sybil's told me so much about you."

Mary side-eyes Sybil who gives a subtle shrug of her shoulders. "Likewise," she says with a somewhat forced smile. Out of all of the sisters, Mary is the one who reflects her aristocratic heritage the most and wouldn't have looked out of place in the golden age of society soirees and the summer season. "It's nice to meet you."

Turning her attention away from Eddie and Mary, Sybil beams as Tom stands up from his chair and steps towards her, taking both her hands in his and leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Hello, you," she sighs - even the most chaste of his kisses somehow always manage to leave her breathless.

"You look beautiful," he smiles, running his thumbs across her knuckles.

"Not too underdressed?" she smirks with a quick glance back at Eddie who is still talking at a mile a minute to a somewhat overwhelmed looking Mary.

Tom chuckles. "Well, you know Eddie," he says. "She always has to put on a show."

"_That's exactly the problem_," she thinks to herself as she gives him a non-committal shrug in reply. "_I don't know Eddie at all_."

"Tom?" Mary's voice calls, seeing the man at her sister's side as the perfect opportunity to escape the clutches of the ostentatious blonde. "Is that really you?"

"Hello, Mary," he says, embracing the eldest of the Crawley girls. "It's been too long."

"Sybil, do you know Tom? He and... what?" she asks, cutting off her own sentence as the pair of them start laughing.

Sybil beams up at Tom as he takes her hand in his again. "Actually, we know each other quite well," she replies.

Mary's lips form a perfectly shaped "O" as she realises what Sybil is insinuating. "Well, that's... lovely," she replies with a smile, though Sybil's feels her heart drop as she sees that it's one of her sister's less convincing ones.

"Ummm, can I get either of you a drink?" Tom asks, taking this as his cue to leave and give Sybil a moment to explain things to Mary - given her romantic past, he's not sure that her ex-boyfriend's best friend seeing her little sister is going to go down all too well.

"Vodka lime and lemonade," please, Sybil smiles. "And I'll get the next round."

"Same for me, please," replies Mary. Once he's gone, she grabs Sybil by the arm and pulls her away from the group slightly. "Tom Branson? Why didn't tell me Tom Branson was your boyfriend?"

"Because he's not," she replies and it's the second time she's denied such a thing this week. Yes, she really likes him, but the speed at which their relationship is progressing terrifies her and the longer she puts off the inevitable label, the calmer it makes her feel. "We've known each other a few months but there's only been something... more... between us for a week."

"You know that he's friends with..."

"Yeah, I know, they play on the same rugby team," Sybil interrupts. "Look, just because I'm sort of with Tom now doesn't mean that you're going to have to face Matthew again."

"Oh, really?" Mary asks, glancing over Sybil's shoulder. "Then why the hell is he here?"

Sybil looks behind her and, sure enough, she sees Matthew emerging from the toilets and heading over to give Tom a hand at the bar. The Irishman has obviously said something to his friend because he two looks towards the two sisters, his unmistakable blue eyes meeting Mary's brown ones across the room. He claps Tom on the shoulder and, as he pushes his way through the crowd towards them, Sybil notices Mary going visibly tense beside her.

"Hello, Mary," he says rather quietly, given the loud music and the rumble of chatter around them.

"Matthew," she replies. "You... you look different."

He nervously runs a hand through his now shorter and much darker hair. "Sometimes we all just need a bit of a change," he tells her. "Speaking of which, how's Russia?"  
"Good," she tells him, cringing slightly when she realises that she's found herself incapable of giving more than one word answers. "It's different, but I think I'm getting used to it. I'm out injured though so I thought I'd come home for a couple of weeks."

"Are you alright?" he asks with a look of worry upon his face.

"It's nothing serious," she smiles, genuinely touched by his concern. "Just shin splints... they hurt, but it could have been much worse. Plenty of rest, a bit of physio, and I'll be back on stage in no time."

"Good, I'm glad."

Sybil coughs then, reminding the two of them that she's still in their presence. "I'll leave you two to catch up," she says. "I still haven't said hello to the others yet." She leaves the two of them alone then, a part of her secretly hoping that they can somehow work this out.

**_-xxx-_**

Things do in fact go better than anticipated - Matthew and Mary have had a string of civilised conversations, Eddie seems to have mellowed, Gwen and Thomas had begun a potentially very interesting game of 'I have never...' but, as is often the case with these sorts of things, they'd gone off topic by discussing one of Jimmy's indiscretions from his schooldays and never quite got back to playing. Sybil, however, is more than content to have found herself squashed up against Tom's side with his arm around the back of her chair and his fingers occasionally brushing up and down her arm and playing with her hair (which is much longer now that it's straight) as they discuss his forthcoming interview at The Guardian.

"When does your drinking ban kick in?" Thomas asks, addressing the three dancers.

"Monday," Jimmy replies. "So call this the last huzzah."

"It's only for six weeks though," says Mary. "Mine started almost the second I stepped off the plane in Moscow."

"Is that why you're struggling to walk in a straight line then?" Matthew teases. "Because this is the first time you've had a drink in months?"

Mary raises her eyebrows at him. "I'll have you know, Mr Crawley," she tells him, pointing a brightly painted fingernail in his direction. "That I... I am injured. You should be showing me a bit more sympathy."

Matthew chuckles. "If I recall correctly, when I broke my arm playing rugby, you showed me nothing of the sort. In fact, you told me it was my own fault for playing that bloody stupid game... those were your exact words."

"Yes but the thing is, darling, you were making a mountain out of a molehill... typical man, overreacting."

"Here, here," Gwen smirks, raising her half empty glass to Mary. As for the rest of the group, well, it hasn't exactly gone unnoticed that she had just referred to Matthew as "darling".

In an attempt to diffuse the silence, Thomas slams his hand down on the table. "Right, shots," he declares, which is only to be met with a collective groan from the others.

Sybil watches out of the corner of her eye as Mary props her head up on her elbow and shuffles herself closer to Matthew. She can't hear what they're saying to each other, but the looks on their faces quite clearly show that they're still so very deeply in love. Unlike Sybil, Mary hadn't been sure that dance was something she wanted to pursue as a profession but the theatrical aspect of it had captivated her and she'd decided to go to University to study drama. It was there that she'd met Matthew, a law student from Manchester, when they'd found themselves living together in halls. Although she enjoyed the student lifestyle, an opportunity had arisen for an audition at the Royal Ballet and she'd decided to at least give it a try, not expecting that she would actually get in. With the family's blessing, Mary had dropped out just before beginning the second year of her degree to begin dancing full time. By this point, she and Matthew were a fully fledged couple and they'd supported each other in their chosen career paths. Following graduation, he had returned home to study the Legal Practice Course at Manchester Metropolitan University before returning to London another two years later after completing his training contract with a small commercial practice owned by one of the friends of his late father. The long distance relationship thing had been hard on both Matthew and Mary, causing them to almost break up several times - it was for that reason that both of them had known that her going to Russia would destroy them and so it had been much better to call things off amicably before she went than to face months of stress and bitterness. Mary hadn't wanted to see Matthew for at least the first six months to a year of her departure, knowing that it would be so easy for her just to tell him that she had made the wrong decision regarding their relationship and that they should at least try to make it work. She was rather drunk at this moment in time and so could not have realised that there was some truth to her prediction but, as always, it hasn't been forgotten or gone unnoticed by Sybil. The youngest Crawley would have been convinced that Matthew felt exactly the same and the two would have left sometime in the very near future for a night of passionate lovemaking as they rekindled their romance, had it not been for the events that were about to unfold...

Matthew looks up with a broad smile as a pretty redhead that Sybil's certain she's seen somewhere before approaches the table and she's sure she can pinpoint the very second Mary's heart breaks when he gets to his feet and greets her with a tight embrace and a kiss on the cheek.

"Everyone," he says, "This is Lavinia, she's been a friend of mine since we were children and she's just moved to London. She's still finding her feet and so I said she should come out tonight, I hope you don't mind."

"The more the merrier," says Jimmy, smiling warmly at this newcomer who pulls up a chair right between Mary and Matthew.

"So, what brings you to London, Lavinia?" Sybil asks, at least trying to be polite.

"Work... I'm just about to start my training contract," she says. "It's a bit of an odd time to start, I know, but things are so competitive these days that you just take whatever you can get."

Tom nods, knowing exactly how that feels. "So you're a solicitor too then?"

"Yes, though, unlike Daddy and Matthew, I've never had any interest in the commercial sphere. I want to practice Family Law."

"Tough niche to pick given the cuts to legal aid, isn't it?"

Lavinia nods in agreement. "I'm sure it'll be worth it and I've always said that I'd be more than happy to work on a pro bono basis if it meant that I could just at least do something to help. There's absolutely no justice in what the government have done and I could sit here and rant about it for hours."

"Then we'll have to have coffee some time and we can rant as much as we like," says Tom with a devilishly charming smile. "It's a subject close to my heart too."

"Alright, enough politics," Eddie says as she gets to her feet. "Time to dance. Anyone coming?"

Gwen and Jimmy murmur their agreement and head towards the dancefloor just as Thomas returns to the table with a tray full of shot glasses, some salt and several slices of lemon.

"So, where are you living now that you're in London?" asks Mary, making something of an effort so as not to come across as being rude.

Lavinia looks up at Matthew and smiles as he looks back at her like a lovesick puppy. "Oh, I've moved in with Matthew," she replies, squeezing his hand and grinning like the cat that got the cream.

Sybil doesn't think she's ever seen Mary drink tequila so fast.

**_-xxx-_**

She leaves her girls just for a second and walks on somewhat unsteady legs back towards the table where Tom is still sitting talking with Matthew and Lavinia.

"Dance with me," she says, holding out her hands to him.

Tom chuckles and shakes his head. "No, I can't dance."

"Please," she pouts and sits herself down on his knee, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Just for a little bit."

He groans, unable to resist her whenever she looks at him the way she's looking at him now - with her big blue eyes staring straight into his, he's often teased her mercilessly and said that she reminds him of the cat from Shrek (her amazingly mature comeback the first time he'd said it had been that at least her feet didn't smell like Shrek which, of course, had only made them laugh hysterically at the absurdity of it).

"Fine," he agrees, indulging her just this once even though he really is the most awful dancer.

Sybil practically squeals with delight and, taking his hand in hers, drags him towards the dancefloor. Behind them, Lavinia moves even closer to Matthew and Sybil sees the look on Mary's face that makes her heart ache. "Actually," she says. "Hold that thought. I'm going to go check on Mary."

Tom nods, having seen it too, and leaves Sybil to follow her sister into the toilets.

"Mary?" she calls, pushing her way through the gaggle of girls fixing their hair and makeup in the mirror. "Mary, it's Sybil."

The door to one of the cubicles opens just behind her and a hand grabs hold of her wrist and pulls her inside. There, sitting on top of the toilet seat, is a very forlorn looking Mary. "Are you alright?" she asks, knowing that it's probably a stupid question.

"I haven't cried in a toilet cubicle since Anna Smith's eighteenth," she sniffs, wiping her tears on a piece of loo roll. "When Charlie Crowborough broke up with me, remember?"

"I remember," Sybil nods - it had been the first real heartbreak for any of the sisters and the three of them had spent the rest of the weekend eating ice cream and watching an endless number of chick flicks and old musicals. "You still love him, don't you?"  
"Charlie Crowborough?"

"No, not Charlie... why would I be talking about him? Matthew."

Mary nods and a fresh wave of tears hits her. "I've been so stupid," she says. "A part of me thought that he would wait. I was going to give it a year at most and then see if we couldn't work something out. I should have known that he wouldn't."

"But..."

"It's wrong what they say, you know. Men are the weaker sex, not women... men are fickle and men are cruel. Men will take you into their beds and into their hearts, only to toss you out in the cold once their done with you. Look at Odette... the black swan seduces her Prince, he was weak and he fell for her charms. It's her downfall... the thing that kills her. Don't ever let yourself fall in love... love will be your downfall. Love will be your undoing and God knows there's always someone younger, prettier and more talented waiting in the wings ready to replace you. Believe me, little swan, this is a lesson I've learnt the hard way."

Sybil stares at her sister then, or at least the woman who is now a shell of her sister. She knows that she's drunk, but a part of her can't help but think that Mary's spark has gone. "Come on," she says. "Let's go home."

The two sisters leave the loo and head for the exit of the bar - it's after midnight now and the place is packed, making it difficult to find her friends so that she can tell them she's leaving. However, what she does see is Eddie and Tom through the crowd, the pair of them dancing together somewhat intimately. Her hips grind against his and she's resting her hands on his shoulders, he's laughing and smiling and wraps an arm around her waist as she turns her back to him, seductively flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Having witnessed more than enough, Sybil follows Mary out onto the street with a feeling of jealousy and a little bit of anger in the pit of her stomach.

But, then again, surely she's just being paranoid. Anyone would feel that way if they'd been on the receiving end of Mary's little speech in the toilets...

Wouldn't they?

**_-xxx-_**

She's standing in a darkened room, wearing a gown of white, with flowers braided into her hair and a pair of pointe shoes on her feet. She's dancing in a way that reminds her of the prologue, when Rothbart casts his spell, only the magician doesn't come for her to turn her into a swan. Instead, she sees the tall figure of a man silhouetted by a bright beam of light coming from an unidentifiable source and, tentatively, she walks towards him and he holds out his hand to her. The closer she gets, the more obvious it becomes to her that it's Tom - he looks devastatingly handsome dressed in morning wear, but doesn't say anything at all as he pulls her into his arms and they begin a slow waltz. His eyes never once leave hers and, as he spins her out, the scene changes and she finds herself back at Downton, crowds of people gathered around the edges of the room to watch her dance - among them are Matthew and Mary, her stomach rounded and her face glowing with the late stages of pregnancy, Edith with a gentleman whose face she doesn't recognise and all her friends, including a very tearful Thomas. It's a wedding... her wedding... **their** wedding, and the guests all applaud as her husband presents his new bride. Hand in hand, they walk together towards her mother and father who are seated upon thrones of gold, and each take a dramatic bow before them. Her father smiles and nods his head, giving his blessing to their marriage and their life together. Sybil looks up at Tom and grins from ear to ear - this is her own fairytale and she's got her happy ending with her prince. He turns her in his arms once more and pulls her in for a kiss but, just as their lips are about to touch, the heralds announce the arrival of yet more guests to the party.

Pulling apart, she and Tom glance up towards the grand staircase to see Andrei and Elsie presenting a woman dressed completely in black to the crowd gathered below. Her face is veiled but her movements as she descends to the floor are poetic and yet somewhat dangerous. She too takes a bow before her parents, her father sitting completely straight as she runs her fingers across his jaw. She manages to seduce everyone in the room almost as if she's weaving some sort of powerful magic over them. None save Sybil are immune to the charms of this temptress... not even Tom.

She pushes the bride out of the way and presses herself up against Tom, his hands moving to pull back her veil before claiming her lips in a passionate kiss. Sybil feels her heart shatter and she wants to scream but no sound will come out - she's absolutely powerless to stop him succumbing to his lust for this woman and she thinks this pain will be the death of her. Pulling apart, Tom looks at her and laughs bitterly, the new object of his desires following suit - her eyes are the same ruby red as her lips, her face deathly pale and hollow. She looks different, but there's no mistaking who this woman is...

Eddie.

Sybil runs then, pushing her way through the guests who are too fascinated by Tom and Eddie to even notice her escaping. She runs up the stairs and to the gallery high above the party below. Feeling more hurt and betrayed than she's ever felt before in her life, she climbs up onto the banister, takes a deep breath... and jumps.

Sybil awakes with a gasp - she's struggling for breath and her hands are clammy with sweat. She sits up far too quickly and the room starts spinning - she must still be a little bit drunk because it takes her a moment for the nausea to pass and for her to remember where she is. Once they'd put Mary to bed (leaving an empty bin by her side just in case), Cora had insisted that her youngest daughter stay the night at Violet's as it seemed to make more sense than her trying to get a cab home at this hour on a Friday night. Sybil had had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu then, her mind taken back a week earlier to when Tom had said almost exactly the same thing to her and how that had begun their truly wonderful weekend together.

Tom.

She can't help but mourn the loss of him from her side each and every time she sleeps alone - it's one of the many things that's starting to scare her, what with it only having been a grand total of seven days since their first night together (of course, that's excluding that one time they'd met in the pub). She's so confused as to whether or not she should be upset with him for dancing the way he was with Eddie - she's always vowed that she'll never become one of these jealous, paranoid girlfriends who even their men out to buy a pint of milk on his own to make sure he doesn't even so much as look at another woman.

But then when has he ever actually said that she's his girlfriend?

What if this is just no strings attached fucking?

Would she be alright with that? Yes, the sex is fantastic - the best she's ever had, come to think of it - but there's a part of her that hopes she's not got her wires crossed and that this really is something special. Again though, it's that whole thing of trying to put off the label because, what the relationships of everyone else she knows and loves falling apart around them, what's to stop hers going the same way? The longer she isn't his girlfriend, the longer it is before things can start going wrong. Suddenly, that seems like enough to quell her anger and she realises that it was just the effects of the alcohol and the influence that Mary has always had over her that had made her have all these irrational thoughts. Thinking that he might be worried by her sudden disappearance, she pulls her phone out from under her pillow and decides to text him.

SORRY I LEFT WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE, MARY WAS IN A BIT OF A STATE.

SEE YOU MONDAY?

She wasn't expecting a reply at this hour but, sure enough, her phone buzzes and she gets one.

NO WORRIES, I'M JUST GLAD YOU'RE HOME SAFE.

SEE YOU MONDAY. WE'LL DO LUNCH.

She smiles at the prospect of having lunch with Tom - he has amazing taste in food and, in the weeks that they've known each other, he's taken her to some lovely little cafes and sandwich bars that she hadn't even known existed. Even when they were just friends, it had been nice just to get away from the studio for a couple of hours and talk about anything and everything but dance. Just as she's about to go back to sleep, Sybil notices that she's had two missed calls and a text message from Edith.

DINNER WITH ANTHONY A DISASTER - MAY HAVE RUN OUT OF

THE RESTAURANT CRYING. ABSOLUTLEY MORTIFIED.

LUNCH ON MONDAY?

Sybil groans - why does everyone feel the need to come to her with their relationship woes. She may have been heartbroken in the past, but that hardly makes her an expert. She types a quick reply to Edith and makes a mental note to rearrange with Tom.

"My life's not my bloody own," she mutters to herself in the darkness, pulling the duvet up over her head and hiding herself away from the world.

**_-xxx-_**

After cancelling their plans to hear Edith's woes on Monday, it's Thursday before Sybil even has the chance to communicate with Tom in a way other than texts - he's been busy rehearsing with the corps and she alone with Jimmy and Henri, the charming Frenchman dancing Rothbart. She finds him alone in one of the studios, long after everyone else has gone by the looks of it, and pauses in the doorway just content to listen to him play for a few moments.

"You know, you never did tell me where you learnt to play," she says, disturbing his solitude at last.

Tom stops playing and looks up at her. "Mam's friend used to look after me for a few hours after school," he said. "She had a piano and I was curious so she taught me. Mam wanted to give her money for lessons but she'd have none of it... she said that music was an art and art is a gift to be shared with the world."

"That's how I feel about dancing," she says. "But I'm almost certain we've had that conversation before."

"We've had lots of conversations," he replies, gliding his fingers across a few random notes.

Sybil furrows her brow and crosses the room towards him, sitting herself down on the floor beside the bench at the piano. "You seem sad about something," she says, resting a hand on his knee.

Tom sighs. "I'm fine," he says. "I had my interview today."

"How'd it go?"

He shrugs and turns to face her, his legs stretched out and trapping her body on either side. "Alright, I suppose," he mutters. "They want me to write an article and, if they like it, they'll publish it and make a decision as to whether or not they want me on their staff."

Sybil beams up at him. "Tom, that's fantastic!"

"Is it though?" he asks. "I feel as though I'll be freelancing forever... that's essentially what this is. Besides, what would I write about?"

She goes silent for a moment, trying to think of an idea. "My father," she says. "He wants to set the record straight about his alleged infidelity and he's got a lot of thoughts on the law and protecting the privacy of those in the public eye. You should speak to him."

"Would he be up for that?"

Sybil shrugs. "I don't know, but it can't hurt to ask. The worst thing he can say is no."

Tom smiles. "Thank you," he replies. Still, not that it matters, there was at least one person on the panel who really didn't like me. I don't think I'm what he was expecting at all."

"Well, I like you," she tells him with a smile. "Is that enough for now?"

Tom chuckles. "For now? It'll always be enough."

Knowing that he needs some cheering up, she quickly glances over her shoulder and a wicked thought crosses her mind when she's satisfied that they're truly alone. She caresses his thighs and looks at him with a devilish smirk - he's been wearing a suit today, a three piece no less, and the thought of him looking so delicious is downright arousing. The waistcoat is still on but his jacket and tie have been discarded somewhere, his collar wide open and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing a tantalising glimpse of his strong forearms. She kneels up then, slowly getting to her feet and moving to straddle his lap, very deliberately grinding herself against his groin and feeling him harden between the thin fabric of her tights and leotard.

"We can't have sex here," he says as they pull apart breathlessly. "We'll get caught."

She smiles wickedly at him. "The danger makes it all that bit more exciting, no?" she asks, her voice low and seductive. "Besides, we're not going to have sex... but I do want to put a smile back on your face." She kisses along his jaw and then down his neck to his collarbone - oh how she loves his collarbone - and, untucking his shirt from his trousers, she slips her hand underneath and begins caressing the flesh of his stomach and sides. If he was clueless as to what she had in mind before, seeing her drop to her knees in front of him again gives him a good idea of just how it is that she's going to make him smile. She undoes his pants, fumbling a little with the tight button which seems much stiffer than his jeans...

Actually, it's not the only thing that seems much stiffer.

Tom lifts his hips so that she can pull his trousers down and brings his boxers with them, giving Sybil access to the thing she craves most. His cock springs free and she licks her lips in anticipation - his shaft is thick and hard and she's eager to wrap her lips around it. Oral sex hadn't been something she'd particularly enjoyed with her last boyfriend as Larry had just sort of... expected it - yes, he was big, but he hadn't really known what he was doing with it and he'd left her somewhat unsatisfied on numerous occasions.

Not like Tom.

Tom is a generous lover, caring as much about her pleasure as his own and, in her eyes, he's so beautiful that it seems so right and natural that she should want to touch and taste every inch of him... especially this way. Until she'd tried it with him, she'd never thought that giving a blowjob could be equally as fun for her.

She wraps a hand around him, her touch firm yet gentle, sliding it slowly up his hardened length and then back down again. He groans and flops down on the bench so that he's lying across it, his arms no longer able to support his weight as she leaves him weak with desire. She continues her ministrations, her pace quickening and his cock growing slick with pre-cum as he finds himself hurtling closer and closer towards total euphoria and, tilting her head forward, she quickly licks his tip. He manages to sit himself up slightly, watching her intently as she runs her tongue along the underside of his shaft once, twice, three times and each paying special attention to the little spot below the head that makes him moan.

"Good?" she asks, teasing him with her fingers again.

Tom nods and runs his hands over his face - she's left him incapable of speech and yet he knows that she's only just getting started.

Satisfied that what she's doing is right, Sybil smiles and takes the tip of his cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it and flicking against his fraenulum which elicits a primal growl from her lover. She takes him deeper into her mouth then and groans when she feels his hand roughly pulling at her hair.

"Please," he begs. "I'm almost..."

She pulls back for a second, catching her breath as she once again caresses his thighs, loving the feel of the soft hairs beneath her fingers. "I know," she says in barely more than a whisper. "And I want you to." He catches her meaning but doesn't have time to protest before she resumes fellating him, adding a hand this time which works in time with her mouth. Suddenly, she feels his fingers slide between those of her free hand and squeeze tightly as he lets go, mumbling something incoherent that vaguely sounds like her name. His seed coats her tongue and fills her mouth but she manages to swallow every last bit before slowly sliding her lips off him - the thought of what she's just done is so powerfully erotic for both of them and they know that they'll be taking this much further later tonight. She gives his tip one last quick kiss and gives him a moment to compose himself and pull up his trousers with a shaking hand and only then does she move to sit on his knee again.

"Told you I'd make you smile," she teases.

"You always make me smile," he replies and, seeing that there's a tiny drop of him still clinging to her swollen lips, curiosity gets the better of him and he leans forward to kiss her, licking it off in the process. Tom pulls back and furrows his brow - it's salty and tangy though not entirely unpleasant, but he can see why some people are funny about swallowing it.

"An acquired taste," Sybil smirks, seeing the look on his face. "Like Marmite, really. I used to hate it but not so much yours... everyone tastes different... apparently."

He laughs then and kisses her forehead. "Well, just for the record, I like the way you taste too... everywhere," he tells her, trailing his lips across her temple, down her jaw and to her neck much as she had done to him earlier. His hands wander up her thigh and slip beneath the chiffon of her dance skirt and his fingers roughly tease and caress her clitoris through her clothing. "You want me, don't you?" he all but growls.

She nods and sighs with delight as he hits a very sensitive spot right where her neck meets her shoulder. "Yes."

"Almost as much as I want you?"

She turns to face him then, pressing her lips against his in a fiery kiss. "More, probably."

He chuckles and nuzzles his nose against hers. "We'll see about that," he says. "Now, come on, let's go home and get you out of those wet clothes."

"But my clothes aren't... TOM!" she half laughs once she catches his meaning. "I can't believe you just said that. That is utter filth."

His eyes widen then as he encourages her to stand so that he too can get to his feet. "This coming from you, after what you just did to me?" he teases. "Well, what can I say? I'm in one of those moods tonight."

She takes hold of his hand and the pair of them run out of the studio giggling like teenagers as they go off to discover just what Tom's dirty mind has managed to dream up.

**_-xxx-_**

They're both sitting up in his bed, her straddling him and clutching his face between her hands, his arms around her waist as he holds her so impossibly close. She kisses his nose, his eyes, his forehead and lips - anywhere that she can reach and threading her fingers through his hair.

"That was..."

"I know," he smiles when she can't find the words. "I know." He pulls her down onto the bed so that they're lying side by side, his hands tracing the curve of her spine before leaning in to kiss her. "Sybil?"

"Hmm?"

"I know that this is going to sound crazy and that it's probably too soon but... I think I love you. No... I know I do."

She feels her heart skip a beat and not in the good way, forcing a smile as she brings his hand to her lips. "I know," she replies, cuddling up to his chest. If he'd realised that she hadn't said it back then he didn't say anything, because at least she hadn't gone running for the hills.

**_-xxx-_**

The following fortnight passes in a blur. Sybil works harder than ever and she's coming down with the most horrific cold on account of her exhaustion - it's making her breathing difficult and her movements sluggish. Even Andrei is begging her to slow down but she won't listen, she wants to keep going and to prove that she can do this.

"I've made it this far," she says after Jimmy throws his two penneth in. "I'm not giving up now."

Tom watches her from his place at the piano across the room. They've barely seen each other since he'd declared his love for her that night - she stays late every single night rehearsing, going straight home and collapsing into bed once she's done and she's up at the crack of dawn to get in a run or a yoga session before returning the following morning. It hasn't gone unnoticed to Sybil that, the less time she spends with Tom, the more time he spends with Eddie - if she were well and therefore able to think rationally, she would realise just how ridiculous her jealousy was. Problem is though, a combination of her exhaustion, caffeine withdrawal, and the probable side effects of the various medications she's taking to try and shift this cold are making her behave anything but rationally - she's under a great deal of stress and the cracks are beginning to show. She sees them laughing together over something, whispering secrets like school children at the back of the class and it makes her paranoid that they're discussing her.

"Sybil," Andrei sighs. "Please, just go home. Take some rest and come back in a couple of days. There's still plenty of time before opening night and Eddie can always step in while you're away."

Sybil laughs harshly. "Oh, of course she will," she huffs. "Everybody loves Eddie... why not just let her take over?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all," replies the Russian. "Though, if you're not careful, you'll end up seriously ill and you won't be able to dance at all... then she will have to take over."

Agreeing with the choreographer, Tom gets to his feet and steps towards Sybil - his calming influence over her is usually enough to make her see sense and listen. "Syb, Andrei's right," he says - they've never actually gone public, but everyone in the company knows that there's something going on between them. "You need a break."

"What do you know about it?" she snaps and he recoils back as though he's been stung. "Nothing. You don't understand at all."

"Well maybe I would if you just talked to me," he replies, trying to keep his voice low as he's more than aware of the fact that they're not alone. "Please."

Sybil groans. "Jesus Christ," she says, balling her hands up into fists. "You're just always... there... aren't you? You really don't have to be... you're not my boyfriend." With that, she picks up her bag and storms off out of the studio with Tom hot on her heels.

"Sybil... wait," he calls after her. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I tell you I love you and then you say that? I thought I actually meant something to you..."

She pinches the bridge of her nose - tender on account of the onset of sinusitis - and sighs. "I need space Tom."

"But..."

"i don't want to see you right now," her words are harsher than she intended, but the point remains the same - she needs some time alone to collect her thoughts and mentally prepare herself for the challenges that the next week or so will bring as her debut draws closer. "Besides, I'm sure that Eddie would be more than happy to fill in for me... in more ways than one."

Before he can come up with a reply, she's left him again and he knows that it's useless to follow - this is a side of Sybil he's never seen before and, truth be told, he's not sure he likes it.

**_-xxx-_**

Lying on her bed later that evening, listening to the sound of the rain hammering against the window as it drowns out Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake playing on her iPod, Sybil knows that she's been a fool. She doesn't regret not telling him that she loved him back because, in all honesty, she's not sure that she does. Yes she loves him, but she's not **in love** with him and the two things are incredibly different. She knows that she feels something for him, something that she knows will one day blossom into the kind of love that he feels for her - that being said, with the way she treated him today, she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want anything more to do with her. She overreacted, she knows this now, but it's easily done when you're under that amount of pressure - you say things you don't mean and behave in ways that are sometimes truly unforgivable. She's told him this much in the dozens of texts and several voicemails that she's left for him in the hours following their row, each and every one offering her sincerest apologies and begging him to call her as soon as he could. Thinking that the weather could be to blame for him perhaps not receiving her messages, she quickly dresses in her wellies and coat and decides that the best course of action is to go round there and confront him directly.

Sometime later, Sybil arrives at Tom's flat. She paces up and down outside for a few moments, desperately trying to find the words to say to try and make this better, before finally mustering enough strength and courage to knock on the door. She closes her eyes as she hears the chain sliding from the lock and takes a deep breath as the door opens.

"Tom, I'm sorry for the things I said earlier and..." she stops mid-sentence as she opens her eyes again, her jaw dropping at the sight before her. Standing there in the doorway is a woman.

A woman wearing a pair of Tom's boxers and one of his shirts, the man himself walking around in the background wearing nothing but a towel.

"Eddie?"


	9. Swan Song

**_So sorry for the delay in posting this chapter - I was really sick and then came home where I've being revising for my exams which start on Friday. This is the final chapter, but there is an epilogue which I'll try and write on the train tomorrow. I hope I've managed to tie up all the loose ends and resolve the Eddie situation in a satisfying way. Enjoy :) x_**

* * *

Nobody has seen or heard from Sybil in three days, though she'd somehow managed to get a message through that she's taken Andrei's advice, seen a doctor and was declared too sick to be in rehearsals, but she'd be back first think on Monday morning once she was fully recovered and rested ready for opening night the following Wednesday. She won't answer her phone, refuses to answer the door whenever anyone comes knocking and has spent much of the past twenty-four hours curled up under a blanket on the sofa asleep. She's lost all concept of time but, when she wakes from yet another fitful slumber, she takes a guess at it being the early hours of Friday morning. Her whole body aches and she can't tell whether she's hot or cold, her head is pounding and she can't bare the bright light of the sun as it hurts her eyes, hence the reason the curtains have remained firmly shut. She honestly can't remember the last time she was this ill and, for the first time in so very long, she finds herself craving the tender loving care that only a mother can give. At around seven in the morning, she finds herself giving in and decides to call but even reaching for her phone is too much of an effort and even the slightest movement has her groaning in agony. It's the final straw and she curls herself up into an impossibly tight ball and cries herself back to sleep.

**_-xxx-_**

It's Mary who begins to panic first, having been unable to contact her little sister and what with word from the Royal being that she phoned in sick yesterday and hasn't been heard from since. Instead of worrying their parents before it's absolutely necessary, she thinks about trying to get in touch with Tom but, upon realising that she doesn't have his number, decides to contact somebody else who might...

Matthew.

Mercifully, he isn't with a client when she arrives at Allen and Overy and he's happy to see her straight away though his joy soon turns to concern upon hearing the receptionist tell him that, apparently, Mary is insisting that it's urgent and seeing the grave look on her face as she steps into his office.

"Mary, what's wrong?" he asks, pulling out the chair in front of his desk for her to sit down as he's suddenly worried that she looks as though she's about to faint.

"It's Sybil," she says, sitting down and gratefully accepting a glass of water from him. "Apparently she's ill and nobody can get through to her. I'm worried about her... I'm worried that it's serious and something bad has happened to her. Have you heard anything from Tom?"

Matthew shakes his head. "No, not much anyway," he replies. "All he said was that he and Sybil had a bit of a catastrophic row the other day, though he didn't say over what, and when he went round she didn't answer the door to him. Given what happened, he didn't think it right to let himself in using the spare key and..."

Mary's head snaps up. "The spare key," she interrupts, springing to her feet and spilling a little bit of the water on her jeans. "Of course! How could I forget about that?!" Setting her glass down on the table, she quickly embraces Matthew in thanks and kisses him on the cheek. She pulls back, blushing slightly and he laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair.

"Do... do you want me to come with you?" he asks.

Mary's lips curl up into a grateful smile. "Thank you, but I'm sure you have lots to be getting on with here."

Matthew waves his hand dismissively and shakes his head. "It's a Friday afternoon and there's nothing that I can't do from home over the weekend. Besides, I'm sure they won't mind me leaving a little early for a family emergency... if there's anything I can do, anything at all, then I'm more than happy to help."

Mere minutes later, the pair of them are racing across London in the back of a taxi heading towards Sybil's flat. Knowing the pressure that she's under, Mary is genuinely worried for her sister's welfare right now and she can't help but imagine that something rather horrid has happened to her - her behaviour has been uncharacteristically erratic of late and she just hopes that Sybil did actually heed her advice from all those months ago and hasn't let this role consume her.

Almost subconsciously, her hand reaches across the back seat of the cab for Matthew's and, as their fingers twine together in a way that's so comfortingly familiar, Mary can't help but wonder if Sybil is the only one who may have done something incredibly foolish.

**_-xxx-_**

The first thing they notice is the darkness - Sybil's flat is usually so light and full of joy that it takes a moment or two for their eyes to adjust and, when they finally do, they are able to make out the lifeless lump on the sofa that is the youngest of the Crawley sister's cocooned in a blanket.

"Sybil, darling," Mary says quietly so as not to startle her as she crouches down and gently brushes her hair back from her sweaty brow. "Sybil, it's Mary. Are you alright?"

Sybil groans in response and tries to roll over, mumbling something incoherently about how she's fine and that she just wants to go back to sleep.

"You're burning up," she says before turning to Matthew. "See if there's any soup in the cupboards, I can't be sure when the last time she ate anything was."

Matthew nods and sets about rummaging through Sybil's kitchen. "None here," he says. "There's a Sainsbury's at the end of the road. I'll go down and get some... no, it's fine, honestly," he adds in protest as Mary reaches into her handbag for her purse.

Her gaze softens and her lips curl up into a hint of a smile. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," he replies. "My parents always used to send me to bed with a bowl of chicken soup whenever I was ill and it's advice that I still listen to."

"Genuine medical advice," Mary half laughs, recalling that his father was a doctor and his mother a nurse. "Thank you," she says. "I'll put her to bed and try to get her temperature down while you do."

"Still here," Sybil mumbles, not appreciating being spoken about like she isn't in the room making her sister and Matthew laugh.

**_-xxx-_**

With Sybil completely dead to the world, Mary gently closes the bedroom door behind her and returns to the living room where she sees Matthew still pottering around the kitchen.

"How is she?" he asks, drying a pan with an old tattered tea towel.

"She's fine," Mary replies. "I think she's just overtired, the poor darling... something smells good."

Matthew takes a step across the kitchen to stir whatever it is he's heating in another pan. "I wasn't sure when the last time you ate anything was either so I thought we could have some," he tells her. "Though I remembered that you don't like chicken soup so I got tomato and basil. Everything in the bakery had been reduced too so I bought a baguette to go with it."

Mary smiles at him. "You really didn't have to."

"I know," he says. "But, truth be told, I'm absolutely starving and it's no fun to eat alone."

They eat their soup in relative silence, sitting close together on Sybil's sofa, their fingers occasionally brushing together as they reach for the bread on the plate placed between them. Once their done, talk turns to what they've been up to the past few months what with this being the first real opportunity that they've had to spend any time alone together since Mary returned from Russia.

"Won't Lavinia be wondering where you are?" Mary asks as the topic of conversation turns to her.

Matthew shakes his head. "No," he says. "Her boyfriend's come down for the weekend so they've gone out for the evening."

"Boyfriend?" Mary questions, furrowing her brow in confusion. "But I thought..."

She's cut off by the sound of Matthew's laughter. "I'm sorry," he apologises, suddenly feeling incredibly rude for his sudden outburst. "Mary, Lavinia's not my girlfriend. As I said, she and I are old friends and she was looking for somewhere to stay while she gets herself sorted out, It was alright for you because your family's here, but it's a bit of a culture shock when you move to London from the north... I just thought that it was a nice gesture."  
"And it is," Mary agrees before growing pensive for a moment. "So she's not your girlfriend?"

"No."

"And you're not her boyfriend."

"No," Matthew laughs, his face lighting up with that adorable amused smile of his that she's loved almost since the day she met him.

"But you looked so close," Mary continues. "So right together."

"That's what Jack said, but he understands the relationship we have. We're more like the siblings neither of us had," he tells her. "No, I don't have a girlfriend... though I have been hoping that my old one would come back."

"Matthew..."

"I still love you, Mary," he admits. "And I was planning on waiting a year before asking you if maybe you thought that we could at least try to go back to the way things were and... why are you laughing?"

"Because I'd planned to do the exact same thing," she replies. "I'd say that we've been rather foolish, wouldn't you?"

The only answer he needs to give is a kiss and, when he does, she finally feels like that missing piece has slotted back into place again and, just maybe, they'll find a way to make this work.

**_-xxx-_**

When Sybil finally emerges from her bedroom early the next morning, she can't help but contain her smile at the sight of her sister and Matthew curled up on the sofa together and sleeping in each other's arms. The past few days have been a bit of a blur, but she vaguely remembers them coming round and looking after her last night - the scene before her eyes obviously suggests that they've been here all night and she's glad that they seem to have worked things out between them at last. Tossing her abandoned blanket over them both, she quietly creeps over to the fridge to retrieve some orange juice before retreating back to her bedroom to catch another hour or so of sleep. However, her slumber doesn't come as easily as it had done the night before because all she can think about is Tom. She knows that she behaved appallingly towards him and she hadn't even given him chance to explain the Eddie situation before storming off into the night. She picks up her phone from the bedside table and lets her thumb hover over Tom's name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, she bites the bullet and decides to call him, only freezing when he answers.

"_Hello_?"

"Hi," she croaks. "It's me."

"_Yeah, I know... it's not like you to be up this early on a Saturday_."

His observation makes her smile, if only for a moment, and she knows that she's making small talk but she needs to figure out just what she's going to say to him. "No, I know, but I was awake and I just thought I'd see how you were... so... how are you?"

"_I'm... good_," he replies. "_Though, bloody hell, you sound awful_."

"Gee, thanks," she replies. "I've been ill the past few days though Mary and Matthew looked after me last night and I feel so much better."

"_Good... I'm glad to hear it_."

"Look, Tom, I'm just going to come right out and say it," she says, deciding that it's now or never. "I'm so sorry for the things I said the other day. I wasn't thinking straight and my head's a mess right now... not to mention the thing with Eddie."

"_Do you really think I slept with her_?"

"Not anymore, though I did at first... I came over to apologise after I realised that what I said after rehearsals was uncalled for, only to see her answer the door to me and dressed the way she was with you walking around in a towel. Can't you see how it must have looked?"

"_But you did think that I'd slept with her_?"

"Initially, yes."

"_I thought as much_," replies Tom. "_And that really fucking hurts, Syb_."

Sybil sighs. "I know but, as I said, I wasn't thinking straight. I was sick and stressed and I think you just learnt the hard way that I have a tendency to come across as ever so slightly psychotic."

Tom chuckles at this. "_I wouldn't go as far as psychotic, but you were pretty crazy. It was like Jekyll and Hyde... in all seriousness though; I didn't have sex with her. You saw the weather on Thursday; she'd lost her keys and had nowhere else to go because she couldn't get hold of her flatmate. I said that she could come back to mine, have a shower and stay inside where it was warm until she could go home. That's it, that's all... I promise you_."

"I believe you," she tells him. "But you've both been so close lately that I think, on top of everything else, I just got paranoid... can you forgive me?"

Sybil worries when Tom takes a moment to think about his answer, but breathes a sigh of relief when she finally gives it at last. "_Of course I can_," he says. "_My God, Sybil, why would I look elsewhere when I have the perfect woman right in front of my eyes_?"

"I'm not perfect," she replies with a smile. "Not in the slightest."

"_I know... and neither am I. You're absolutely perfect to me though, I'm certain I've told you that before. There isn't and never has there been anything between Eddie and me, she's a nice girl and I really like her as a friend but that's as far as it goes. I'm sorry if anything that I said or did suggested otherwise... and I hope you're not one of those girlfriends who doesn't want her man so much as looking at another woman because I'm not giving up on that friendship. Well, not that you are my girlfriend, you made that pretty clear the other day_."

"I'm not one of those women, Tom," she replies, silent tears streaming down her face. "And I am your girlfriend... if you'll still have me."

"_Darling, I want nothing else_," he replies. "_I love you_."

"I know," she tells him, cringing at the fact that she's still unable to say it back. "But I meant one of the things I said though. I need space, Tom, this week is going to be absolutely hellish and I doubt that I'd get to see you anyway."

"_That's fine_," he replies. "_I reckon I'll be pretty busy myself. I'm starting full-time at the Guardian on Monday_."

"Tom, that's brilliant!" she says with excitement. "I'm so proud of you."

"_Thanks... I know I should have told you, but I didn't think that you were speaking to me. Let me take you out to dinner on Friday night_," he suggests. "_I've been promising for ages and we still haven't done it_."

"That's when we open Swan Lake."

"_I know, then we should definitely go out to celebrate," _he says._ "I'm sure there's someone at work who could manage to get us a late reservation somewhere_."

"I wouldn't care if it was McDonalds in Leicester Square," Sybil laughs. "Because dinner with you sounds like a fantastic idea."

"_Good, it's a date," he replies. "Though do you want a Big Mac or chicken nuggets, just so I know in advance_?"

"Chicken nuggets. Always."

"_Wrong answer_," he teases. "_It's a good job you have many more redeemable qualities_."

"Touché... though, do you eat the gherkins because, if you do, then I don't think I'll be able to forgive you."

"_Eugh, no, they're vile... Kieran does though, he and Éamon always used to scrap over them whenever we'd been out for the night and were several pints worse off_."

Sybil giggles at the thought of the Branson boys causing a scene in a McDonalds somewhere in Dublin in the early hours of the morning. "I think we're good."

"_In what way_?"

"Every way," she replies quietly and with a wide smile plastered across her face. "Look, I've got to go, I think that was Mary knocking on the door. I'll speak to you soon though, okay?"

"_Alright," he says, slightly saddened by the fact that he has to let her go. "See you Friday_."

"See you Friday, Tom."

Feeling more than just a little bit relieved, Sybil tosses her phone aside and calls out to her sister to tell her that she's alright to come in.

"You look happy," Mary says. "And you seem so much brighter."

"I am," she smiles. "To both things. I've just spoken to Tom... I think we've managed to work things out which, judging from how I found you and Matthew this morning, I'd say you two have too."  
Mary blushes and is unable to conceal her delight as she finally meets Sybil's eyes. "He's asked me to marry him."

Sybil gasps. "And what did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it," she replies. "Though I told him that I won't give him an answer unless he asks me properly... getting down on one knee and everything."

"This might seem like a stupid question then but, what do you think you will say?"

"Yes, of course."

Sybil squeals and pulls her sister into an impossibly tight embrace. "Oh, Mary, I'm so happy for you," she says. "Obviously I'll be a bridesmaid, yes?"

Mary laughs. "Of course you will, darling. Though you must promise not to tell anyone, not Mama or Papa and especially not Edith. This is our secret, okay?"

Sybil nods. "I promise," she says solemnly. "I think everything really is going to be alright again, isn't it?"

**_-xxx-_**

As he had always done with Mary, Robert takes Sybil out to lunch the day of their first performance. The company had been in final rehearsals from early in the morning and had been dismissed after a full run through to get some rest before they were all due to return and take to the stage.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, sensing that his youngest daughter is a little quieter than usual.

Sybil gives a non-committal shrug as she chases her chicken around the plate. "A little," she replies. "Though no more than usual."

"And what about Tom, have you seen much of him lately."

"Not as much as I would have liked," she tells him. "We've both been busy."

"Charming young man you've got yourself there," says Robert. The pair had met when Robert had agreed to meet Tom for the purposes of his article - he'd been wary of the Irishman at first, unsure of what to make of his apparent bravado and confidence. He'd thought him rather full of himself at first but had eventually found his interview technique and his views on the world refreshing and a pleasant change from the otherwise uptight and somewhat stuffy journalists he usually encountered. When the article was published, it had gone down a storm and had even sparked national debate about some of the issues raised. The woman who had made the initial accusations had come forward relatively quickly after that and had admitted that she made the entire affair up. So charmed was the judge by the young writer that he had insisted that he join the family for dinner one Sunday afternoon (Sybil had joked and said that he'd done well - none of the men in Edith or Mary's lives, including Matthew, had secured an invite to the inner sanctum anywhere near as quickly).

Sybil smiles shyly. "I'm glad you like him," she says. "Though I know how fastidious you are about us introducing our boyfriends properly and I was getting to that, I promise. Things have just been chaotic to say the very least."

Robert knows that he has a hand in what she's referring too and he'll be the first to admit that he's been something of a prize idiot of late. "I'm partly to blame for that," he says. "And I'm sorry... but it's alright about Tom, sometimes a little change is good."

"Who are you and what have you done with my father?"

Robert chuckles. "I've had a lot of time to think recently and I think it's time to turn over a new leaf."

"Does this mean that you and Mama aren't going to get a divorce?" she asks hopefully.

"I don't know, my darling girl," he says. "I really don't know. But take a small piece of advice from an old and foolish man, treasure every second you spend with that man of yours and don't take it for granted. You don't realise what you've got until it's gone... hindsight, I suppose, is such a wonderful thing."

"_Oh Papa_," Sybil thinks to herself. "_Always several days late with your words of wisdom... some things never change_."

**_-xxx-_**

She's so focused that she doesn't hear the knocking on her dressing room door until the person behind it is practically hammering it down with their fist.

"I'm sorry, I was in the bathroom," she lies. "Oh, Eddie... hi."

The blonde smiles nervously at her - they haven't really spoken to each other since that night at Tom's flat and, truth be told, that has almost everything to do with the fact that they've been deliberately avoiding one another. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Sybil replies, quickly checking the time to see if she can spare Eddie a minute or two before they have to take their places. "Everything alright?"

"No, not really," says Eddie, picking at a loose bit of thread on her tutu and watching intently as Sybil adds the final touches to her makeup. "I came to apologise for what happened at Tom's. I know how it must have looked but, honestly, there is nothing going on between us."

"I know," Sybil replies with a smile. "He told me and I believe him. If anything, I'm the one who should be apologising... I jumped to conclusions and I was wrong. You and Tom are friends and I'd completely understand if you think that I'm a complete bitch because I've not exactly been very welcoming towards you since you came her. I suppose I just felt threatened..."

"Threatened?" Eddie interrupts. "Why would **you **feel threatened by **me**?

Sybil shrugs. "Because you're a better dancer than me and you would have been so perfect for this role," she says, finally getting everything off her chest. "And then the whole thing with Tom just caused everything else to... escalate. I was jealous."

Eddie's eyes widen at Sybil's confession and she can't quite believe what she's hearing. "I've seen you dance so many times," she says. "My parents and I came down to London last Christmas to see the Nutcracker and you absolutely blew me away. I was so excited at the prospect of just being able to share a stage with you and I'm sorry if I came across as being a bit... much... but I think that you're so talented and I'd give anything to be able to dance as well as you. Oh and, you were wrong, you're not a complete bitch... you're actually one of the nicest people I've ever met."

Sybil turns to face her and smiles. "So you weren't jealous of me for being with Tom?"

Eddie shakes her head. "No, if anything, I was jealous of Tom for being with you. He's really not my type... he's got too much of a dick."

"I know he can come across as being a bit cocky sometimes, but he's really not too much of a dick..." Sybil pauses then and suddenly realises that she's misheard. "Oh."

Eddie gives her a shy smile and wrings her hands nervously in front of her. "I guess, if anything, I'm jealous that you're his girlfriend and not mine."

Sybil's jaw drops. "Oh, Eddie, I'm terribly flattered," she says. "But... I know for a fact that I... um... fish from a different pond."

Eddie laughs. "I know," she replies. "And I probably sound like such a creep."

"Not at all," she says. "Though, in the unlikely event that I change my mind, I'll give you a call, okay?"

Both young women laugh and, the next thing they know, they're embracing each other as one would a sister or a very dear friend. "Do you think we can start over?" Eddie asks, taking both of Sybil's hands in her own as they break apart.

"I'd like that."

"In that case then... hello, I'm Edna Braithwaite though everyone calls me Eddie."

"Sybil Crawley," Sybil replies, shaking one of Eddie's hands, "And everyone calls me Sybil."

"I know who you are, I'm a huge fan... now, come on Swan Queen, it's time to shine."

**_-xxx-_**

Over two exhausting and emotional hours later, Tchaikovsky's iconic score reaches one last crescendo as the final act plays out to a sold out audience at Covent Garden's Royal Opera House. As the white swan makes her sacrifice, Sybil takes a brief moment to reflect on the journey she's been on to get to this moment. Weeks ago, she had started out as the Little Swan filling some very big shoes and that sweet an innocent girl had begun her metamorphosis the minute she'd made love to a stranger on his living room floor. In time, that stranger had become the most important man in her life and he'd weaved his magic enough on her to help her tap into that dark side of her that she hadn't known she possessed, which had proved to be something of both a blessing and a curse at times. She had known Odette's despair when she thought that her prince had fallen for the wrong girl, but she'd made her own sacrifice and admitted that she was wrong - for so long now, her insecurities and her stubbornness have been the demons that she's spent years trying to vanquish and now her transformation is complete. In this moment, she is Odette and Odile simultaneously - she is a Swan Queen in her own right, taking her well deserved place at last as the true heir to her family's dancing dynasty. Taking a deep breath as she jumps into the unknown and her back hits the mattress on the stage below, she knows that there will always be someone somewhere to catch her when she falls.

She hears the thunderous applause as the music comes to an end at last and tears begin to prick at her eyes as she realises that she's just achieved a lifelong dream. There are people cheering her name and she takes a moment to savour this memory before Jimmy pulls her to her feet and whispers his thanks and congratulations in her ear. She squeezes his hand tightly as the company take their places on the stage ready to take their bows as the curtain goes up one last time. The sight before her eyes is just a sea of black and white but, among the blur, there is one that stand out to her because there, on the front row beside what she assumes to be her family and dearest friends, is Tom. Tears stream down his handsome face as he beams up at her and she's never been more certain of just how much she loves him.

Tonight will be the night that she tells him so, because she couldn't have made it this far without him and nor does she ever want to take another step without him by her side.

**_-xxx-_**

They're two of only five diners in the charming little candle-lit restaurant close to Covent Garden. It's popular with theatre goers but tonight has been quiet and it had been easy enough for them to get a table. Just after they'd sat down, he'd reached out across the table and taken her hand in his own, only letting go whenever their waitress had brought over their food.

"You were crying," she teases as she finishes off the last of her dessert.

"No I wasn't" he says, unable to meet her eyes because she'll know that he's lying and so chooses to stare into his glass of red wine instead. "I think my contact lens is chipped."

"Of course it is, darling."

He peers up at her from over the rim of his glass and his lips curl up into a smile. "You look beautiful, by the way."

Sybil blushes at the compliment, just as she always does. She's wearing one of her favourite blue dresses with a deep v-neck and her hair falls into soft natural waves so dark that it looks like ebony in the glow of the candle at their table which illuminates her delicately pale skin. She's kept her make-up simple with just a flick of eyeliner and a slick of lip-gloss and, truth be told, she's never **felt** more beautiful. She's confident in herself at last and she's almost certain that nothing could ever bring her down from this high.

"Are you done?" she asks, her voice low and seductive as she watches Tom drain the last of his wine. "Because you look awfully uncomfortable in that tux and I think it's time we got you home and took it off."

Tom's eyes widen and it's a miracle that he manages to find the words to ask for the bill.

**_-xxx-_**

Laughing at the top of their voices, the pair of them run hand in hand through the streets of London searching for a taxi and trying to dodge the rain. Pulling her into the doorway of a nearby Underground station, Tom takes Sybil's face in his hands and, after looking deep into her eyes, presses his lips to hers in a kiss that says so much more than words ever could. There are still so many things that they need to discuss and issues they need to resolve but they have a lifetime in which to talk and, for now, they're going to lock themselves away together and pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist as they consummate their love once more...

Just for tonight, forever can wait.


	10. Epilogue: A Dance All of Its Own

**_Well, what can I say? Once again, this has been the most incredible journey and I thank each and every one of your for supporting me along the way. It was quite different from anything I've ever written before in the sense that it was the first time I'd intentionally set out to write an M rated fic and not just have it turn into one. As I said right at the beginning of the story, I can't take credit for the original idea, but I hope you've enjoyed reading the story that I was inspired to create just as much as I have writing it. Look out for my next story "Something There That Wasn't There Before" coming up over the summer. In case you didn't see it - I posted the final chapter yesterday and this is just the epilogue. Enjoy and, just one last time, let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

**_Three Years Later _**

As tradition dictates, the London Crawleys had migrated north to Yorkshire for the Christmas holidays - it was always a special time, for it was one of the few occasions when the entire family found themselves together but, due to several major and rather exciting events which had occurred recently, this year was set to be more wonderful than ever. Even Edith, who was currently living and working in Paris after moving there with her long-term boyfriend (none other than the former Royal Ballet principle, Henri Laurent, who had been the Rothbart to Sybil's Swan Queen and had fallen head over heels in love with the middle sister) had made the trip over from France to join in the celebrations. It was the first time Tom had come to Downton for Christmas and, even though he had been here several times before, he was still bowled over by the majesty of the place. Stepping through the front doors was like entering a different world - the way the ancient halls were decorated with holly and ivy wound around the banister of the grand staircase and the smells of cinnamon and candles burning made him feel as though he was in one of those period dramas his mother (and Sybil, he'd discovered quite quickly into their relationship) was so fond of. He loved the little traditions that her family had, much as his own did, and was glad that he was finally going to experience them at last. Perhaps one of his favourites was that the Crawleys always ate Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve because, as Sybil had told him, it dated back from when the house had servants and the sixth Earl had begun the tradition so that they could all have Christmas Day off to celebrate on their own or go off to see their families in the case of the ones who lived close by. Nobody would rise until close to midday the following morning, where the family would present those same servants with gifts (though that had gone back centuries before the one about dinner) and then they would exchange their own in the evening. Nowadays, there were no servants (save for the old butler, Carson, and a few other members of staff who usually worked to make sure the house was fit to welcome the public when the family were away during the tourist season) and so everyone just used Christmas morning as an excuse to have a long lie in after things had a tendency to get a bit merry and the celebrations go on well into the early hours of the morning.

Last year, they'd spent Christmas in Dublin with his family as his brother Kieran had surprised everyone by announcing that he was getting married - Sybil had gone down an absolute storm with the Bransons and, on several occasions, she'd overheard various members of his family telling Tom that she was most definitely a keeper and that they were so perfect together...

And who was he to argue?

The first year they'd been together, Sybil had been cast in the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy and so she hadn't been able to join the rest of the family because of work commitments - though they had come back early and her parents had thrown a New Year's Eve party where Matthew had **finally **properly proposed to Mary. It had been months since he'd initially asked her and she was beginning to think that he'd forgotten but Matthew had assured her that that wasn't the case at all and that he'd just been waiting to find the perfect time, the perfect place and, most importantly, the perfect ring. They were married the following March and, ultimately, Mary had only ended up spending one season with the Bolshoi before returning to London to open up her own dance school with the help of her mother and advice from Elsie Hughes. Things had been going well, only to be made even more perfect when she had found out that she was expecting a baby. George Matthew Crawley had been born less than a week earlier and was still very much the centre of attention for the whole family.

Tom watches from afar as Sybil cradles her newborn nephew in her arms - she's an absolute natural and he's not ashamed to say that the sight before his eyes makes him incredibly broody. They've spoken about children in the past, both agreeing that they want them and, hopefully, with each other but that it's just a case of waiting to find the right time. They'd thought they'd found it but, just as Sybil had been ready to come off the pill and he'd used the last of the condoms, something had happened that had thrown their lives, hers especially, into complete disarray and it had forced them to reconsider their plans.

The reason why they'd been able to go to Ireland last December was because that Sybil's knee had been causing her difficulty dancing and her doctor had given her strict instructions that she needed to rest. Following his advice and after undergoing a gruelling course of physiotherapy, she'd been ready to take the stage again and she could have sworn that she was feeling better than ever. However, her optimism was short lived as, several months earlier, that same old injury had recurred and had hit her worse than ever. After more physiotherapy had proved unsuccessful, she'd been forced to try surgery which had been such a huge risk. She'd had her second operation a couple of days after George was born and, before they'd caught the train to York, Tom had gone with Sybil to see her surgeon who had delivered the devastating news that she would never dance again... or at least not professionally. She'd finally mustered the courage to her family late last night as it had been hard to put on a brave face when her uncle, the Earl of Grantham, had asked her when she'd be returning to the stage as he hadn't been to the ballet in so long. Tom had squeezed her hand tightly as she had battled to stop the tears from falling and apologising over and over again because this was supposed to be a happy time and there she was getting all upset. She'd cried even harder (a side effect of her painkillers, she supposed), when they'd all shown the most incredible support and told her that they would be there to help her though this and give her whatever she needed. It felt like a weight off her shoulders because, at the time, it had felt like the end of the world and yet now she knows that that isn't the case at all.

"I saw it coming," she admits to Mary as she stares lovingly at her sleepy nephew. "And I know what I'm going to do. I want to go to university and train as a physiotherapist... eventually, I'll specialise in dance injuries and see if there's anything that can be done to prevent career ending ones like mine."

Mary smiles as she takes the baby from her sister's arms. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Sybil," she says. "But just concentrate on getting better first, okay?"

Sybil nods. "You sound just like Tom," she laughs. "And I will... I promise."

"Presents!" their teenage cousin Rose exclaims suddenly, tearing herself away from her phone for the first time all evening (Tom had teased her mercilessly once he'd discovered that it was one of the boys in her year at school and she'd made him swear that he wouldn't tell her parents but, Tom being Tom, had told her that he could promise no such thing and took great pleasure in watching the young girl squirm. He knew her well enough by now to know that she was calculating her revenge and she wouldn't let him leave Downton without exacting it). "Come on, it's time."

Naturally, baby George is the most spoiled of all the family this Christmas, receiving an engraved pocket watch from his grandparents which will be kept safe until he's eighteen, Edith has done some paintings for the nursery, and Sybil and Tom had bought some beautiful blankets and a stuffed lion (which Sybil had almost wanted to keep for herself, having thought the thing adorable and falling in love with it the second she'd seen it in Hamleys). Sybil had given Tom a smart fountain pen which she'd had monogrammed with his initials and a moleskine notebook - as much as he loved his iPad, he maintained that the old fashioned way of scribbling things down on paper was still his favourite method of working and Sybil had grown sick and tired of seeing his notes written on the backs of old envelopes in a blue biro that he'd pretty much gnawed to death. As for Tom, well he'd presented Sybil with a selection of the beautiful cloth bound classics that she'd had her eye on in Waterstones for months.

"I can't give you a library like this one," he says, gesturing to the room around them and remembering that time that she'd told him how she could only ever marry a man who gave her a library like the Beast did to Belle. "But maybe, with these, you can start to build your own."

"Tom, these are gorgeous," she grins, sifting through each of the books in turn - Sense and Sensibility, Jane Eyre, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland to name but a few - until she comes across one that she doesn't recognise. "I don't know this one," she says, beginning to flick through the pages.

"Ahh, now you see, that's a very special book, love," Tom says, clenching his fist to stop his hand from trembling. "This is your story... all your memories, all the things you achieve are all in that book. This is only the first volume though, because there's so much more to come."

Sybil feels the tears pricking at her eyes as she studies it more carefully, seeing her whole life up to this moment documented right before her eyes. "But, how..."

"Well, I wrote it, the photos and illustrations are Edith's and I asked all your friends and the rest of the family for pictures and anecdotes of you growing up. You're an amazing woman, Sybil, and I know that it's hard right now, but I don't want you to feel limited by your injury and what it means for your career. Once you're better, you'll have the world at your feet again..."

She sniffs and flicks through to the back of the book, frowning when she sees that the centre of a large number of pages have been hollowed out, only for her jaw to drop when she notices the most stunning diamond ring she's ever seen suspended on a small piece of pink ribbon that she suspects has come from one of her old pointe shoes. "Tom?"

"You know, you'd better say yes because, if you don't, then I've just made a tit of myself in front of your entire family."

Sybil casts a sideways glance at Mary and they share a conspiring grin before she turns her attention back to her boyfriend. "Ask me properly."

Tom sighs and looks to Matthew, who rolls his eyes and mutters something about "Crawley women" under his breath. Crossing over to her in a couple of long steps, Tom kneels in front of where she's sitting with her bandaged leg propped up on some pillows. "Sybil Crawley, you are the most extraordinary woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. I love you with everything that I am and I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness if you'd do me the honour of becoming my wife."

"Oh for pity's sake, Sybil," Violet pipes up. "You have to marry the boy after all that... leave us in suspense any longer and it'll be New Year before you've given him an answer."

The whole family laughs and Sybil brushes away her tears on the back of her hand. "Of course I will, you idiot," she says, leaning down to kiss him as everyone around the newly affianced couple murmurs there approval. "I love you."

Feeling like the happiest man in the world, Tom kisses her nose and pulls the ring out of the book before sliding it onto her finger. It fits perfectly and he can't help but breathe a sigh of relief - this moment has been months in the planning and, having secured her father's blessing relatively early on, it had been a mammoth task to get everything ready on time and each and every person involved has been sworn to secrecy ever since he first told them of his intentions. Now it's over... it's done, and he's looking at her and her at him and nothing else in the world seems to matter except this moment. She might never be a ballerina again, but marriage is a dance all of its own and together they'll master that dance, each step carefully choreographed to their own beat - some steps will be right, others may go incredibly wrong but they'll learn from those mistakes and keep trying. Whatever happens, the show must go on, and the end result will blow their audience away...

**THE END**

_**A/N: Oh, and if you're wondering what happened to the others - Eddie became a principle at the Royal after both Mary and Sybil retired, Jimmy went out to dance with the American Ballet Theatre. Thomas followed him out there and they're currently living together in New York (along with their dog, Rudolf - named after Rudolf Nureyev). As for Gwen, well she's currently travelling through Europe with a boy named Jon who knows nothing...**_


End file.
